


the bittersweet yearning

by notavodkashot



Series: love stories from the end of times [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 50K in and the dicks do finally touch, Affection Starved Prompto doesn't know how to handle all these feels, Alert the press: nearly 30K words in and we finally have a kiss, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ardyn continues to be the most helpful creep, At least Prompto thinks so, Canon Compliant, Canon marches on, Canon-Typical Violence, Condoms, Cor is a sad brooding disaster in the background, Crushes, Established Relationship, Exhausted cuddle piles are the best, Gladio isn't much better, Gladio's just a puppy with a crush, Gladio's two settings are gentle giant and tough love extraordinaire, Granted it was a very nice kiss, Greyshire Glacial Grotto is literally The Worst, Hand Jobs, He has a few complaints to file, Iggy and Prompto are both only children and don't get it, Iggy is the cutest frog, Ignis has a habit to offer excellent advice at the worst possible time, Ignis is a teasing dick, Ignis is determined to show him, Ignis wants to help but none of his usual methods are working, M/M, Mindflayers can go to hell please and thank you, Multi, Nevermind Fociagh Hollow is the literal worst, Noct wants to know what the hell is going on with his Crownsguard, Noctis and Gladio are brothers, Noctis really is the best wingman in the world, Noctis would like to speak with the Gods' manager please, Or for Noctis wielding the literal power of the Gods, Oral Sex, Pay him no mind, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Prompto doesn't really know how to handle intimacy that doesn't involve sex, Prompto is a master of the delayed panic attack, Prompto wallows in selfloathing in the weirdest ways, Prompto was not prepared for that, Prompto will be happy to never see Ravus again too, Slow Burn, The talks are awkward but the kisses are worth it, There's a point when you have low selfesteem that you've heard all the pep talks there are, There's no in between, These poor kids have no idea what's about to happen to them, They're fighting gods now I guess, To be fair neither Noctis nor Gladio get it, Unrequited Crush, bottom!gladio, butchering wild life is a thing Gladio knows and delights in doing, he's gonna try anyway, ignis is pretty dang terrifying when he's angry, ignis thinks it's hot, noct thinks destiny can go take a hike, prompto wants to puke, reality ensues, sex and feelings, shocker the Balouve Mines are awful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: It was all meant to be in good fun.Or, Prompto has all the crushes and all the feelings, and his friends make it all worse before they make it better. (Sort of.)





	1. the pauper prince

**Author's Note:**

> ...I've got nothing, beyond a sincere apology in advance. This one is gonna hurt, but then, if you know canon, you knew that already. I kind of wanted to write Gladio and Ignis as a settled, borderline domestic couple, because I think the dynamic lends itself well for it. It also means down the road that's gonna make canon events hurt like a motherfucker, but hey. That's what we're here for anyway.
> 
> Also, Prompto's POV might be my new favorite thing to write.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto knew about Gladio and Ignis. He just... didn't _know_ , you know?

* * *

_i. the pauper prince_

* * *

Prompto thought it was going to be awkward, traveling with Ignis and Gladio. 

He liked them well enough, and they seemed to like him back, but he'd never really been around them while they were together... and he hadn't actually known they were _together_. Noctis had mentioned it offhand, like a well known truth that he was surprised Prompto hadn't known about. It _had_ been awkward, for a little bit. He was acutely aware of every time Gladio and Ignis talked, how close or how far they stood or sat from each other, and how that easy banter that Prompto had never thought much about, now seemed weirdly intimate of all a sudden. 

But then the Regalia had broken down, and he'd met Cindy – seriously, _Cindy_ – and the next thing he knew, they were walking off into the wilderness to slay monsters. 

The thought vanished entirely, that nugget of knowledge buried deep beneath the anxiety of battle and the heat of the plains. When they set up camp, Prompto focused on putting a lid on his excitement, trying not to show how amazing he thought everything was. He was keenly aware he wasn't like Ignis or Gladio, whose place on this trip was assured by their office as part of Noctis' Crownsguard. He was just... someone Noctis liked enough to bring along, which usually made Prompto's belly flip about in glee, but not often enough to let it get to his head. He had to work hard, harder than anyone, and show them he took his place among the Crownsguard seriously. 

Then they were having dinner, and as if it were nothing, Ignis sat on one of Gladio's legs, near the knee, as if he didn't have a perfectly serviceable chair available. 

Prompto choked on his toast, and then flushed bright purple when he realized they were staring at him. 

“Excuse me,” he managed to say, and scurried away to the other side of the camp. 

The silence lingered, before Ignis sighed. 

“I told him!” Noctis protested, before they could even ask. “He said he was okay with it.” 

“Right,” Gladio said, passing his plate to Ignis, and bouncing him lightly on his leg. “Up you go, I'll talk to him.” 

“Gladio-” Ignis began, and let his frown deepen when all he got for his trouble was a passing kiss to his temple. 

“'s cool, it's not going to be Cor 2.0, promise.” 

Ignis muttered something entirely unkind that made Noctis snort. Gladio ignored them and went to find Prompto sitting at the very edge of the haven, face illuminated by the runes. 

“Hey,” Gladio said quietly, dropping to sit on the ground next to Prompto. 

“I'm so sorry,” Prompto whispered miserably. “Please don't be mad.” 

“It's okay,” Gladio said, because it was, and offered a shrug to punctuate the statement. “You wanna talk about it?” 

Prompto's gut reaction was to say no and shrink away. He swallowed hard and realized that Gladio was still looking at him with a patient smile, and all he could offer in return was a small shrug. 

“...it's stupid,” he said, and rubbed his wrist anxiously on reflex. “I mean, I'm happy for you. Both of you! Noct told me and I just. I guess I didn't realize there was a difference between knowing and. You know. _Knowing_.” 

“Well,” Gladio said, trying his best to be soothing. “Cat's out of the bag now. I mean, it's not like we can't keep our hands off each other, so if it bothers you...” 

“No, no, it's okay!” Prompto felt his face burn. “I was staring and it was rude. It just. It startled me a little.” 

“You sure?” 

Prompto nodded. 

“Totally. I didn't... I didn't mean to make an ass of myself,” he muttered, rubbing his nose sheepishly. “Thanks for not being mad about it.” 

“You're too scrawny to be a proper ass, Prompto,” Gladio replied, eyes twinkling with amusement as Prompto spluttered a laugh on reflex. “Can't really be mad at you, either. So we're cool?” 

Prompto gave two very heartfelt thumbs up and made a strangled noise in the back of his head when Gladio snorted and reached a hand to ruffle his hair. 

“Dude, not cool!” Prompto whined, trying to salvage what was left of his hairstyle. “We were having a moment!” 

“Yeah,” Gladio snorted, and nodded back to where Noctis and Ignis were sitting by the fire, staring inquisitively in their direction. “And now we're gonna have dinner.” 

* * *

It was still awkward sometimes, but not always. 

Mostly Prompto found himself noticing the little things, like the way they fell into step together, the little barbs here and there, and the way Ignis seemed to always know exactly where Gladio was at any given time. It was distracting, and Prompto endeavored not to think about it. He endeavored really hard and not very successfully at that. 

It was just _weird_. Not bad-weird, at least, which he'd decided after that first awkward dinner and watching Ignis relax by degrees. Maybe a good kind of weird, though still definitely weird. 

He just... wasn't used to seeing people be like _that_. His parents weren't the overtly affectionate kind—at least he didn't think so, though in truth he didn't see them enough to make an informed opinion. It was just... nice. Comfortable. 

Prompto found himself studying the two of them and then felt terribly guilty about it afterwards, but he couldn't quite figure out why. He was at least aware that it was probably a little creepy, how fascinated he was by their dynamic. But it just... it seemed so _comfortable_. He and Noct were best friends, of course, and Prompto treasured their friendship above pretty much everything else in his life – he'd gone through weapons and survival training with the Crownsguard for Noct's sake; he still had the scars and the sincere belief that Cor was _actually_ immortal – and he didn't really think there was anything he could ask of him, that he wouldn't give. And he was also inordinately proud of the fact Noctis really let himself go around him, that he could be just Noct, rather than the Prince whenever he and Prompto spent time together. 

Ignis and Gladio were an entirely different thing, though. 

Well, of course they were, Prompto thought for the umpteenth time, they weren't just friends, there were bound to be differences. And it wasn't like he thought of Noctis that way – he didn't, often, or for very long; Noct was going to marry the Oracle, and more importantly, he _wanted_ to marry the Oracle, and that was that. 

Prompto watched them have one of those weird half conversations where they replied to what the other was saying before he finished saying it – it wasn't like in movies either, they didn't finish each other sentences, they just flat out never finished their sentences all together – as they broke camp and prepared for another long, hot day hunting down giant scorpion nests in the plains. 

“All in order?” Ignis asked him, expression wry as he caught his eye. 

Prompto felt immensely proud of himself because he wasn't blushing. 

Not much, anyway. 

They were practically in a desert anyway, blushing was normal. 

“All ready to go!” He replied brightly, offering two thumbs up. 

Ignis nodded at him and shoved Gladio off the side playfully over something he muttered under his breath. 

Prompto didn't want to know. 

Honest. 

* * *

“You could help, at least,” Gladio said, looking at Ignis as he wiped sweat off his forehead and left a streak of blood on it instead. 

“I think I prefer to leave it to the expert,” Ignis replied, sitting primly on the edge of a rock, where Noctis happened to be taking a nap. 

“You never have a problem gutting fish,” Gladio pointed out, grinning as Ignis flinched when he dug in the knife and _pulled_. “What's different about this?” 

“Several hundred pounds,” Ignis deadpanned, even as he winced when the guts spilled out from the dualhorn's belly with a loud, wet noise. “And my shoes are new.” 

“Oh well, if it's for the sake of your _shoes_ ,” Gladio laughed, making a show to roll his eyes. He caught Prompto's look, and grinned at him. Prompto felt his face flush a little. “You wanna learn how to butcher something, little man?” 

Prompto made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. 

“Dude, I use guns for a reason,” he explained, and scooted back until he was leaning against the rock Ignis and Noctis were perched on. “That reason being gore just ain't my thing.” 

Gladio scoffed and turned back to work on the giant carcass, stripping away the coarse hide and slowly but surely cutting out bits and pieces of meat that looked more like the sort of thing Prompto would expect to find in a butcher shop. Gladio worked in silence, filling up the plastic containers Ignis had set up for him before he started. Noctis snored lightly, shifting about until his face was resting in the shadow of Ignis' back, and Ignis himself kept an eye out for any predators attracted by the scent of fresh slaughter. Prompto watched Gladio's every move with a twitchy sort of interest, because no, really, gore wasn't his thing, but there was a strange peacefulness to his friend's methodical work. 

When the last container was filled up and closed, Gladio wiped the knife clean with a rag and put it away. Then he dug his hands into the mountain of viscera at his feet and shoved it all back into the remnants of the carcass. 

Prompto made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, and startled when Ignis chuckled. 

“Strictly speaking, he doesn't need to do that,” he explained, arching an eyebrow at Prompto's expression, “now he's just showing off.” 

Prompto gave Ignis a confused look, because, as it had been well established, _gore was not his thing_. And he wasn't really sure what else Gladio was supposed to be showing off about. He startled as Noctis let out a loud, almost put upon sigh. 

Gladio approached them with a grin, which only widened when Ignis pressed the butt of his lance square in the center of his chest, as if to keep him away. 

“You're filthy,” Ignis pointed out, one eyebrow arched disdainfully. 

Well, it sounded disdainful to Prompto's ears, but Gladio kept grinning like this was some kind of achievement. 

“C'mon, Prompto,” Noctis said, sitting up with another long suffering sigh. “We'll set up camp.” 

“Sure,” Prompto replied, awkwardly helping Noctis collect the plastic containers as he tried not to stare while Gladio and Ignis had one of those weird look-conversations things they did. 

“Are you certain, Noct?” Ignis asked, tapping his lance against Gladio's chest warningly, when he tried to come closer again. 

“Haven's twenty minutes away from here,” Noctis pointed out with a shrug. “It'll be fine.” He made a small shooing motion with his hand. “You two go clean up.” 

By Prompto's estimation, it was Gladio that needed a clean up, not Igni—Oh. 

_Oh._

Prompto felt himself flushing a lovely shade of magenta and did his best to not gape. 

“Better make it a royal decree, Noct,” Gladio teased, wriggling his eyebrows at Ignis. “Otherwise Iggy might have second thoughts.” 

Noctis rolled his eyes with a flourish. 

“Yeah, not even gonna touch that one,” he said, then shook his head and waved them off again. “Away with you two, you're wasting sunlight.” 

“Oh no,” Ignis deadpanned, pushing his glasses up his nose. “The horror.” 

But he started walking in the direction of the small creek they'd found earlier that day, Gladio following at a prudent distance after taking the time to wave them off. Prompto congratulated himself on definitely not staring avidly as he watched them go. He made up for it by giving Noctis a thoughtful, considering look. 

“What?” Noctis asked, a little defensively, when he caught Prompto's gaze. 

“You're like, _the best friend_ ,” Prompto declared, snickering when Noctis' face heated up slightly. “Ultimate Wingman, it is you.” 

“Shut up,” Noctis muttered, ducking his head. “You don't want to see those two _frustrated_.” 

Prompto supposed he didn't. Really. 

...probably. 

They ate steak for dinner, cooked to perfection of course, and played cards around the fire afterwards. And if Gladio kept an arm comfortably thrown around Ignis' shoulders pretty much all the time, and Ignis leaned into the touch with a smug little twist to his usual expression, no one said anything about it. 

Prompto still noticed, though. 

* * *

Prompto saw the tail coming his way and found himself rooted in place, instantly aware there was nowhere to go. 

“Well, shit,” he said, and felt kind of bad for letting those be his last words. 

Then Noctis slammed into his side hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs and the next thing he knew was that they were both hanging off the rim of the canyon, a good sixty feet above the ground. For a moment, no one said anything. 

“I'm going to kick Dave next time I see him,” Noctis said eventually, grunting as Prompto's added weight made his usual wall hang a little more strenuous on his shoulder. “Really hard.” 

Prompto barked a chuckle which turned into a squeak, when Noctis' sword shifted in its place and threatened to fall. 

“Shit,” Prompto hissed again, staring down the dusty rocks below and refused to magically turn into soft, fall-breaking pillows. 

“Gladio!” Noctis yelled, tightening his grip on his sword, a slightly panicked pitch in his voice. 

The Bandersnatch roared as it turned towards them and began to charge at them. Prompto reevaluated his thoughts on the rocks, once landing into the damn thing's maw was on the table. Time slowed down as Gladio sprinted in their direction, seemingly intent on outrunning the overgrown, ill-tempered lizard. Said lizard was suddenly enveloped in lightning magic that made it shriek and thrash about – _Ignis_ – and momentarily forget about the little drama on the cliffside. Prompto felt his gut bounce off his knees and then lodge itself into his throat as Noctis' sword shifted again and suddenly they were falling. He felt a pang of heartbreak when Noctis warped across the canyon to safety, which was immediately squashed by the reality of Gladio literally tackling him into safety, mid-fall. 

“Gotcha,” he said, as he skid into a halt, his body curved around Prompto's to soften the blow. 

It still hurt, but then, he couldn't expect anything else, considering every bit of Gladio seemed to be hard enough to bounce a penny off of. Prompto made a vague, gurgling noise as his brain rebooted under the stress of two consecutive near death experiences. 

“Look alive,” Gladio told him, dropping him on his feet with a smirk. “Still got work to do, Prom.” 

Prompto blinked, shook his head and looked up in time to see Noctis fling himself at full warp speed at the monster's side and topple it sideways. 

“ _Hello_ , opening,” he found himself saying, grinning as the guns fell into his hands without conscious thought. 

Gladio laughed as as he sprinted back towards the beast, sword as long as he was tall falling easily into his hands. His back was to Prompto and he didn't seem in the least bit concerned with that, or the fact Prompto had to shoot _around_ him to score some pretty big hits. Ignis noticed – of course he did – frowned for a split second, and then shook his head and leaped in to deliver a few blows of his own. 

When the beast died, Prompto nearly hooted loud enough to obscure the monster's shrill cry. 

“Dude, _we're awesome_ ,” he told Noctis as they fist-bumped each other. 

“I'm still going to kick Dave,” Noctis replied, grinning despite it all, as he threw an arm around Prompto's shoulders. “Oi, lovebirds!” 

Prompto made the mistake to look. 

Oh, he thought a little breathlessly, watching Gladio kiss Ignis like it was the last thing he'd ever do. 

“Really?” Noctis asked, overly exaggerated tone more teasing than anything. 

Gladio's right hand let go of Ignis' head and raised into what Prompto assumed had been meant to be an obscene gesture, but then Ignis' left hand was reaching out and pulling that hand down, so they would never know. That was such an Ignis thing to do, it made Prompto choke on a small laugh. 

They were still kissing, though. 

And Prompto was still staring. 

“I'm going to camp,” Noctis announced with a magnificent roll of his eyes, “with Prompto,” he added, hooking an arm around Prompto's own, “who's the last bastion of sanity I've got left.” 

Prompto snorted awkwardly as they started walking out of the canyon, and focused all that sanity on not looking back. 

It was harder than he wanted to admit. 

* * *

It took another week of hunts around the plains to gather enough gil to settle the Regalia's repairs, but by then they had a rhythm to it. Fighting in the wilderness was decidedly different than any kind of fighting they'd done previously, safe behind the Wall in the Crown city. They lingered in the plains for another week, running errands for tipsters and getting the hang of how to work properly as a team. They didn't face anything quite as daunting as the Bandersnatch – Dave had been sincerely apologetic about it, so Noctis didn't actually kick him for sending them off into that fight without warning – but each fight was exciting and new in its own way. 

Every night Prompto fell into his sleeping bag tired and sore but also satisfied with a job well done. He didn't even really think about the vast expanse of Gladio's back on his left, always turned to him as Gladio sprawled onto Ignis as he slept. He also didn't think much of Noctis' habit to snuggle into him in the cold of night, making the already small tent into a significantly more cramped affair. 

In the mornings, Ignis made breakfast and strategized the best way to make use of the day, Gladio chased Noctis around the tent as he usually began to pull it apart with the sleeping Prince still inside, staunchly refusing to wake up. Prompto spent most mornings sipping on coffee and watching the procedings with a strange sense of peace about it. 

“I think it's time,” Ignis announced calmly, once Gladio was done tormenting Noctis and Noctis had gone from glaring blearily at his Shield, to frowning intensely at his plate. “We should make for Galdin Quay today.” 

“You're driving,” Noctis announced after a moment, shaking his head. 

“As if that was ever in question, Noct,” Ignis pointed out with a snort. “We're preparing for a wedding, not a funeral.” 

“...I'm not _that_ bad,” Noctis replied, a little miffed – or maybe not quite awake just yet, sometimes even Prompto couldn't quite tell. Noctis stopped to consider as Ignis gave him a long look. “...after noon, at least.” Gladio snickered and earned himself another glare. “At least I can drive!” 

“Ow,” Prompto interjected with a mock-wounded pout, “thanks, dude.” 

Gladio gave him a mischievous smile as Noctis threw his arms in the air. 

“I give up.” 

Prompto grinned. Despite the rocky start, he found himself strangely confident that they would be alright. 

* * *


	2. a gentleman's agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto gets a few answers, but he's not really sure what to do with them.

* * *

_ii. a gentleman's agreement_

* * *

Galdin Quay was lovely. 

The water had a million different shades of blue that Prompto kept trying to catch with his camera but never quite got right. The people were pleasant enough but not so much as to start asking too many questions. Unfortunately, despite Noctis' slight sulk about it, both Ignis and Gladio had agreed that their best course of action was to stay in the nearby havens scattered by the waterfront. The main resort kept most of the beach well illuminated at night, and thus meant there were hardly any daemons spawning about – Prompto had, nonetheless, gotten kind of used to seeing big, flaming swords patroling the outskirts of their camp grounds over the past couple weeks, which was probably not a good thing. 

Prompto sipped his coffee, watching Ignis move about, because the alternative was to watch Gladio run shirtless down the beach, and Prompto thought that'd be weird. 

“Ignis?” Prompto found himself asking, decidedly not staring as Gladio came back, damp from sweat and sea breeze, and continued his morning routine three feet away from Prompto's very taxed self-control. “Can I ask you something?” 

Ignis looked up from the bowl of batter he was tending to, rolled his eyes when Gladio took the opportunity to flex shamelessly, and then offered Prompto a pointed, inquisitive look. 

“Certainly, Prompto.” 

“Noct's the Prince, right?” Prompto mused, shrugging. “You know, heir to the throne, future of Lucis, all that stuff.” Ignis made a questioning sound in the back of his throat. “I mean, you're his Adviser and Gladio's his Shield. It's all... Very Important and Official, right?” 

Ignis tilted his head slightly to the side. 

“Indeed.” 

Prompto nodded. 

“So why are we so dead broke that we had to go kill monsters to pay for stuff?” 

Gladio slipped in the middle of a push-up and ended up sprawled on the hard, rocky floor. He didn't seem to care much, considering how loudly he was cackling. 

“Gladio,” Ignis chided him, one eyebrow arched severely as he noticed Prompto flushing awkwardly. “It is a valid question.” 

“Sorry, Prom,” Gladio intoned in a relatively convincing contrite tone, though the chuckling wasn't helping. He rolled onto his back, lying on the ground by Prompto's feet and grinned as Prompto's flush renued with a vengeance at the nickname. “We're not _actually_ dead broke, we just have to act like we are.” 

“Oh,” Prompto replied, nodding. “Okay.” There was a small pause. “...why?” 

“Because it builds character,” Ignis deadpanned in his most solemn voice at the same time Gladio snorted: “Because we're amazing.” 

Prompto gave them both a look that begged them to elaborate. 

“What did the Marshal tell you exactly?” Ignis asked, and pondered that perhaps this was a conversation they should have had before they left Insomnia, not at six in the morning, with the echo of waves crashing into the shore as background. 

But then Prompto had fit so well, within their little group, both in and outside of battle, that sometimes it took Ignis a moment to remember that no, actually, Prompto hadn't been there from the beginning, like he and Gladio had. Though the oversight embarrassed him a little, Ignis was also intensely proud of both Noctis and Prompto, because of it. The Prince had chosen Prompto as his retainer and chosen well, given how Prompto had not only agreed to what that entitled, but also proven himself worthy of it by completing the qualifications demanded of him for it. In Ignis mind, this was the first, true decision Noctis had made as future King, and he couldn't help but feel proud that it was such an auspicious one. 

Prompto had, after all, obtained the approval of the Immortal, as his acceptance of Prompto's skill was the only one that would convince the King to allow his son's best friend to join him in his journey. Ignis rather suspected that the King would have allowed Noctis to bring along whoever he wanted, regardless of their prowess, but it was in the interest of sparing them any other difficulties that had made him name his conditions. After all, no one would dare argue that Cor the Immortal played favorites or let Prompto off lightly, and it carried its own standard of excellence, to be personally trained by the leader of the Crownsguard. 

It occurred to Ignis that, despite the reports he'd gotten and gone through during Prompto's year-long tenure as Cor's pupil, he'd never actually heard it from Prompto himself, what it had entitled. He knew Prompto had attained proficiency in firearms, and that his sniping records were acceptable, but given everything that had been going on at the time, Ignis had, as always, allowed himself to be consumed by Noctis to the exclusion of everything else around him. 

Prompto gave them both an awkward look. 

“Uh, mostly just... you know,” he said, ducking his head a little. “ _Don't you dare shoot the Crown Prince, Argentum_.” 

Both Ignis and Gladio stared at him a little. 

“I mean,” Prompto cleared his throat, “...in retrospect, that might have been a joke.” 

It hadn't felt like one, at the time, Prompto thought a bit despondently. But then again, the Marshal had a sense of humor that made Ignis' dry wit look like clowning. Gladio had sat up by then, dirt and sand stuck to him from the abandoned workout, as he fixed his attention on Prompto. Ignis was likewise studying him, but Prompto had always found there was a serpentine quality to Gladio that just wasn't there in Ignis, one that always made him a bit nervous and that of late made his stomach trip about his insides whenever he was subject to that kind of look. 

“Typical Cor, that,” Gladio said, chuckling as he reached a hand to pat Prompto's knee in sympathy. “Shoot for the heart of the matter and just sort of hope everything else falls into place on its own.” 

“Gladio,” Ignis chidded again, and then rolled his eyes when Gladio tilted his chin up defiantly. Ignis knew better than to argue more about that; it was an argument as old as Gladio's peculiar friendship with the Immortal was. He cleared his throat. “As you know,” he began, giving Prompto an encouraging sliver of a smile, “his Majesty took a trip, not unlike ours, in his youth. It is his wish that this becomes traditional, as he feels it will allow Noct to learn many things that have been outside his reach, while within the capital.” 

“Of course, when his Majesty took his trip,” Gladio pipped in, grinning wickedly, “they _were_ dead broke and they _did_ have to kill monsters to pay for stuff. They were running errands at the height of the war, so it was basically shit, fan, ceiling... you know, the works.” He snorted when a very pointed shoe dug into his side reproachingly. Prompto tried – and failed – to look away as Ignis made a noise in the back of his throat when Gladio easily slid an arm around his leg and tugged him over a little, threatening to tumble him down and into his lap. Gladio laughed as Ignis reached down a hand and mussed up his hair in reproach, and reluctantly let go of him. He gave Prompto a a shrug, as if the little interlude hadn't happened. “The gist of it is, we've got money, but we're supposed to survive without it. I'd say we've been doing a good enough job of that, as it is.” 

Prompto's face lit up at that. 

“You really think so?” He asked, a little giddy despite it all. “Like, for real?” 

Gladio and Ignis shared a look, but they were smiling as they did, and Prompto wasn't even mad when Gladio reached out and pulled him into his lap, fingers descending upon his hair to ruffle it to hell and back. 

“Fishing for _compliments_ now, are we?” 

Prompto squeaked in response, only tangently aware that Ignis had confiscated his cup during the fall, somehow, and then he was squirming about, as he was tickled near to death. 

Inside the tent, blissfully unaware of the racket outside, Noctis slept on, undisturbed. 

* * *

“I've seen that man before,” Ignis muttered suspiciously. “Somewhere.” 

Prompto looked up at him with a small frown. 

“Really?” 

It didn't seem as impossible, on second thought. Ignis seemed to know everything and everyone, sometimes. Prompto would know, he'd never asked Ignis a question that he didn't know the answer to. Prompto had never told anyone, not even Noctis, but that had been the first true thing that he'd decided he liked about Ignis, when he first met him. Ignis _shared_ things. With him! Right off the bat, too! Ignis shared his food and his time and his knowledge, and though at the time Prompto was mostly sure it was a result of him being friends with Noctis, it hadn't changed the fact he'd never had anyone who, upon receiving a question, would actually offer back an answer. Someone who wasn't a teacher and legally and contractually obligated to, anyway. Over the years he'd known the man, Prompto had come to realize that there truly was no question too stupid, too inane or too embarrassing for Ignis. 

It was one of the greatest feelings in the world. 

“I'll figure it out yet,” Ignis replied, offering a small twitch of lips for Prompto's benefit. “It will irk me, otherwise.” 

“If anyone could figure it out, is you,” Prompto said, with enough sincerity and conviction to make Ignis pause for a brief moment, before he shrugged. 

“The vote of confidence is appreciated,” was all he said, and then tilted his head towards the wide, spacious lobby of the resort. “But enough of that. Shall we?” 

Prompto followed his gaze to where Gladio was leaning on the lobby counter, making conversation with the receptionist while Noctis looked over the various announcements pinned to a nearby board. It was like the hunt notices around the outposts in Leide they'd been making a living out of lately, only infinitely fancier-looking, because it was that kind of place. 

Prompto caught Ignis rolling his eyes with a flourish as they approached and the receptionist broke down into a fit of flustered, breathy giggles, her face a bright red as Gladio casually folded his arms on the counter. 

“Well, you know,” Gladio said, as they approached. “We can fit into one, of course. But two is always more _fun_.” His grin got a tad wider as he arched his eyebrows slightly, and the flustered giggling returned with a vengeance. “You _know_ , the roomier kind.” 

Prompto tried his best to not be obvious as he tried to get a look of Ignis' reaction, but he could have sworn there was a flash of amusement in his eyes for a second there. He watched curiously as Ignis came to stand by Gladio's right, and gave the already receptionist a polite nod. 

“I wish I could help, really,” the girl said, licking her lips nervously. “But we're booked solid all month.” 

“ _All_ month?” Gladio asked, shifting his shoulders in a way that made the feathers down his arms twitch slightly. Prompto watched for a full three seconds before he had to swallow hard himself. “ _Every_ single night? _All_ rooms?” 

“Well...” She licked her lips again. “I mean. One of our guests was scheduled to arrive tonight and was... unfortunately delayed until tomorrow.” She cleared her throat. “But it'd be rude to offer you an extra room just for one night.” 

“Oh, I don't know,” Gladio _smiled_ at her. “One single night can pack _a lot_ of fun, if you know how to use it.” The girl swooned a little. Prompto didn't entirely blame her. Then Gladio turned to Ignis, and his smile intensified. “Tell her, Iggy, I am _the best_ at time managing.” 

Ignis gave him a cool, composed look, and then nodded again at the receptionist who seemed to be rather taken aback by the suddenly striking contrast between the two men before her. 

And then Prompto nearly choked on his own tongue, because Ignis smiled at her, razor sharp and thin enough to cut glass. 

“He is,” he said, looking utterly unruffled, “and matter of fact, he is also _great_ at multitasking.” 

Prompto wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but he was not the least bit surprised when they walked away with keys to two rooms and a tab for only one. 

“I thought we weren't going to stay here,” Prompto mused quietly, looking at Ignis and Gladio for answers when Noctis only shrugged. 

“If the boats have truly stopped running,” Gladio explained, “we're gonna need to chart out a new route. You need privacy for that.” He gave Ignis a one-shoulder shrug. “And you never know what you might hear, in a busy place like this.” 

“Perfectly reasonable strategy, I suppose,” Ignis replied, rolling his eyes slightly when Gladio's expression turned smug. “And our funds can take the hit, particularly after such a handsome discount.” 

“What can I say?” Gladio grinned. “I'm good at what I do.” 

Noctis snorted and Prompto focused on that rather than Gladio flexing at Ignis the same way he'd flexed at the reseptionist earlier. 

“I wish you hadn't done that,” Ignis muttered off the side of his mouth as Gladio lead them out of the elevator. 

“Lies,” Gladio snorted, passing a keycard to Noctis, who pretended their conversation wasn't happening just as much he'd pretended the whole scene at the front desk hadn't happened. 

Noctis started walking down the corridor towards their room – the legitimate one, that is – and Prompto lingered on just enough to hear Gladio leer at Ignis, and feel his composure sway under the words. 

“You _love_ blondes, anyway.” 

He did not stay long enough to hear what Ignis might rebuke to that. 

* * *

“Noct?” Prompto swung his feet on the pier, careful not to touch the water, lest he scared the fish away. “So. Ignis and Gladio.” 

Noctis sighed loudly. 

“Seriously, Prom?” The Prince muttered in a slightly exhasperated voice. “Dude, you said you were okay with them.” 

“I am!” Prompto said loudly, then winced and raised his hands in surrender when Noctis glared at him. “I am. I'm just... curious. 's all.” 

“Curious,” Noctis deadpanned, looking down at his friend with a look best described as doubtful. 

“Well, you _know_.” Prompto pulled his legs up and rested his hands on the sturdy wood. “They're... _you_ know. And it's all... _you know_. You get me?” 

“No,” Noctis snorted, reeling back to switch lures. “But then again, I don't... really care?” 

“Noct!” Prompto made his best to sound reproachful. 

“I mean, not like that,” Noctis amended, sighing as he droped to the ground next to Prompto and began fiddling with the lure. “I mean more like... they're happy right? I don't care what makes them happy, I just care they are. The... mechanics of it, totally not my thing.” 

“I guess,” Prompto muttered, not particularly convinced. 

Noctis sighed. 

“Look, it's just. It's always been a thing?” He said, bumping his arm against Prompto's, and then shrugging at the look he got for his efforts. “Thick as thieves, those two, since the day they met. People tried to pick on Ignis and Gladio beat them bloody. Gladio failed at learning anything and Ignis would swoop in and walk him through it until he got it right. And then I was fifteen and caught them making out behind a curtain during one of the stupid summer balls, and they stuttered and swore up and down that I was still the most important thing, and asked me to order them to stop, if I didn't like it. And I just... I couldn't, man. They were _happy_.” 

Noctis bit the tip of his tongue as he worked on threading the line through the eye of the lure, squinting somewhat. When he succeded, he shrugged again, and ignored the fact he had Prompto's undivided attention. Clearly, he should have maybe said more on the matter, when he told Prompto about this the first time around – then again, Noctis repressed a wince, you could always elaborate more on _Oh, by the way, Gladio and Ignis are a thing, you okay with that, right?_ He supposed it was his fault, as it was. 

“Anyway,” Noctis sighed, tying up the knot securely. “We sort of, kept the secret for a few months after that. I'd stand guard and or distraction while they'd mess about here and there, and it was illicit and terribly romantic if you're into _that_.” Prompto refrained from pointing out that he kind of was, if only because Noctis' tone made it clear _he_ wasn't. “Then _Cor_ found out, which meant _Gladio's_ dad found out, which meant _my_ Dad found out, which meant _we_ found out we've been playing hide-and-seek for nothing, because they were okay with it. Kinda. I got yelled at for encouraging inappropriate behavior in my subordinates. Gladio got yelled at for besmirching Ignis' honor by not being open about it, or something? I don't know, his dad got a bit incoherent about it near the end, though I think he was trying not to laugh. And Ignis got yelled at for using me to cover up their tracks. Well. We all got yelled at for that one.” He shook his head and cast the line back into the waves. “But it was okay, everybody approved, nobody was mad, and it all worked out fine. Except, you know, for the bit we had to sit down for _four hours_ listening to Cor the Immortal teach us all about the wondrous world of safe gay sex.” 

Prompto barked a loud cackle, and Noctis kicked his leg lightly in reproach. 

“You're making that up!” 

Noctis looked down at Prompto with a perverse look in his eye. 

“You wanna learn about dental dams and rimming, Prom?” He said, voice toneless as he resisted the urge to laugh at the look on Prompto's face. “Because I can teach you _all_ about safe oral sex. Every word is seared into my brain.” 

Prompto laughed awkwardly. 

“...I'm cool, Noct. I'm _super_ cool.” 

Noctis wrinkled his nose and turned his gaze back to the bobbing lure. 

“Yeah, I figured you'd be.” 

* * *

“You think he'll pull through?” Prompto wondered out loud, as Gladio set the plates on the table. “Dino, I mean. You think he can really get us a ride to Altissia?” 

Gladio snorted. 

“He's gonna get the ride of his life, if he doesn't,” he muttered, frowning. 

“He seemed pleased enough with our offerings,” Ignis pointed out, placing four bottles of beer on the table with a sardonic little smile on his face. “At least.” 

“Damn right he was!” Gladio growled as he let himself fall into his chair. “He's gonna end up as bird feed, if he balks out at this point.” 

“It wasn't that bad,” Noctis said, grinning lightly. “It was actually kind of badass.” 

“The word you're looking for is _suicidal_ , I believe,” Ignis retorted dryly, opening the beer with swift, methodical movements. He wilted a little, under the weight of one of Noctis' eyebrows arched challengingly, and sighed as he took his seat by Gladio's left. “But with great risk comes great reward. Speaking of,” he added, turning his gaze to Prompto as, suitably pacified, Noctis dug into the meal with gusto. “Did you get any good shots of it, Prompto?” 

Prompto beamed proudly. 

“Dude, they're _sick_.” He fumbled with his camera to show them the best ones. “Did you see the _teeth_ on that thing?” 

Dinner was a relaxed affair, full of camaraderie and jokes. 

Days, weeks, months, _years_ later, Prompto would remember the feelings, rather than the words they exchanged, clinging to their ghost as much as he could. Because by then he knew, that had been the last truly happy night the four of them would ever share. 

* * *


	3. declaration of war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the news, Noctis rages, Ignis falls to pieces and Gladio tries to do damage control. Prompto just wishes he knew what to say to make it better, instead of worse.

* * *

_iii. declaration of war_

* * *

Noctis was – clearly, understandably, profoundly – upset over the news. 

Gladio burned with a steady rage that made each swing of his sword incrementaly more brutal, the more imperial troops that tried to stand in their way. 

But Ignis... Ignis went cold with fury. Deadly. He'd zeroed in on Cor when they finally met him and commanded everyone out of the room. Prompto had no idea what had been said, but Ignis had iced over, after that. 

Prompto felt almost bad, by how numb he found himself, by comparison. He thought of his tiny apartment and his classmates and his coworkers and the funny lady two streets down that always smiled and waved at him during his morning run. He thought of them dead or burned or whatever horrible thing had been done to them, and the only thing he found in himself was an empty, wordless void that could not be put to words. 

By comparison, Ignis' frigid silence seemed all consuming. 

“Don't roll up your sleeves, don't roll up your sleeves,” Gladio muttered at Prompto's side, teeth bared as he stared at Ignis, leaning back against a tall barricade across the road. “ _Please_ , don't roll up your sleeves.” 

Ignis rolled up his sleeves. 

Gladio closed his eyes for a second, let out a sharp breath and barely had enough time to run after him as Ignis threw himself head on against the central force dispatched to take them down. Objectively, this was exactly what Cor wanted them to do, create a good enough distraction to allow him and Noctis a good chance to sneak inside and wreack havoc there. 

Also objectively, this was the worst idea any of them had ever chosen to put into motion, and yes, that included trying to explore the mines south of Hammerhead and getting run out by a literal army of goblins. 

“Oh, shit,” Prompto squeaked as he found himself trying his best to follow Gladio's example and keep Ignis' back covered. 

It was decidedly hard to keep Ignis' back covered, considering Ignis' back wouldn't stay still. All of Ignis, really. Prompto found himself wincing a little, as Ignis threw himself aggressively at the rows of MTs that were pouring out of the base like ants. They went down like ants, too. 

Usually, it was Gladio who hit heavily and Ignis who stayed back, covering his back and keeping an eye on the situation to call for specific action when a favorable situation presented itself. This time around, it was Ignis that was delivering the most damage, whirling around from side to side, daggers leaving trails of broken, fallen magitek soldiers in their wake. Gladio gave wide swipes with his sword, clearing out the space behind them, but he mostly kept his shield up, tanking the hits that not even Ignis' agility would let him avoid. They worked well together, Prompto noted, a little taken aback by the strange role reversal – Gladio was the one who threw himself head first into things, and Ignis was the one who kept a cool, sensible head about things, always... only not, apparently – and feeling a little sidelined all of a sudden. He picked off the snipers high up in the walls, one by one, the ones that were too far out of reach from Gladio's swords and Ignis' leaps – though Ignis could leap pretty high, it turned out – and tried his best to ignore the weird cocktail of emotions sloshing about inside his head. 

Daggers, Prompto thought a bit dazed, could do a hell of a lot of damage, in a really small amount of time. 

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. 

* * *

“I know you're not,” Prompto said softly, coming to sit next to Noct on the edge of the haven, “but I still feel I should ask. Are you okay?” 

Noctis kept looking at his phone, browsing news and propaganda and a stream of pictures that made Prompto's stomach roll when he looked at them. 

“I'm not,” Noctis said after a moment, and very casually leaned on to rest against Prompto's side. “It's fucked up. The whole thing. They're just... It's all just. Gone.” 

“I'm sad, too,” Prompto said, sympathetically, even though... even though he wasn't. 

Not really. 

The void was still there, pulsing and empty, digging into his gut. He didn't think about it, though, because he was at least aware it was wrong of him, to feel that way. He should be... he should be feeling something. That was his life that had gone up in flames inside Insominia. Everything he'd ever known. Everone he'd ever met. Instead he was just. He was _fine_. It sickened him a little, to even think about it in those terms. But he was. He was ready to go and piss off the Empire and save the world and whatever else they had to do. 

He just wanted to move on and... not forget what had happened, because there was no forgetting that, ever, but at least... at least stop thinking about it and being aware of what a shitty, terrible person he was, because he was _fine_. 

It was just another strident note highlighting what an utter disaster he was. 

“I'm not sad,” Noctis replied, after a moment, chewing his bottom lip. 

In movies – the kind of movies Prompto watched alone, rather than sharing a couch with his best friend, because they involved romance and kissing and zero explosions – that was a cue for the love interest to lean in and kiss the nerdy, awkward protagonist that didn't know they were stuck in the middle of a perfect love story until the very end. 

Prompto was not a love interest, had never been and would never be, and he knew it. 

And Noctis already had the perfect love story anyway. 

So Prompto looked and said nothing, and Noctis sighed, taking the silence as an invitation to vent. 

“I'm...” Noctis stopped, licked his lips and put his phone away. “I'm gonna fix this. I have to. _I'm the Chosen King_ ,” he added, contemptuously, “I don't have time to be _sad_.” 

“Noct-” 

“Insomnia is in ruins, Prompto,” Noctis snarled at him, as if he'd forgotten. “ _Lucis_ is in ruins. My Dad's dead. The crystal's gone. And all because the Emperor is a greedy piece of shit. We're alive because they're dead, and they're dead because of the Empire. I'm not sad,” Noctis repeated, standing up and looming a little. “I'm _pissed_. I'm pissed because more people will die, before this is over, and as much as I'd like to call it quits, I can't. Now Cor is out there, taking the heat for us to give us a chance to regroup and sort this out, and people keep dying from daemons and MTs, and it's all because of that stupid prophecy no one will fucking bother to explain!” 

Prompto didn't kiss Noctis, then. Not because he didn't want to, but because life was not a movie and he was not the love interest and Noctis was not the main character. He threw his arms around his friend, the one true closest friend he'd ever had, and buried his face into his neck. 

“Then I'll be sad for you,” Prompto promised, eyes sliding close as Noctis' fingers dug into his back, holding him tight. “And I'll be happy for you, too. And all sorts of things, 'cause I'm just the dumb kid with the camera.” Noctis made a wounded noise in the back of his throat, almost like a roar, and Prompto held him, if possibly, tighter. “No one's gonna write prophecies about me, Noct. So you be pissed, alright? Just. Don't be pissed at me.” 

And Prompto found, much to his own surprise, that he _was_ sad, when the void cracked open like a rotten egg and a myriad of choking, terrible things slithered out and tried to steal his breath away. He clung to Noctis as much as Noctis clung to him, and rode the wave of shapeless despair until all that was left was emptiness that made his bones feel hollow. 

* * *

“It's not your fault,” Gladio said, voice almost gentle as he came to sit by Prompto's side at the edge of camp. Prompto made a low noise in his throat, not quite a splutter, when a large arm was dropped on his shoulders. “You did good today, kid.” 

Prompto didn't really think so, but the hug was nice – hugs, he'd realized, where the best thing in the world, and every single one he could get from his friends was like a tiny shard of something precious and wholly his own. He hugged Noctis all the time, and Noctis returned the hugs easily enough – and that was enough, Prompto told himself, every time he noticed something he definitely shouldn't. Gladio wasn't shy about touching others, but he also didn't do it too often, either. And hugs were rare since, as far as Prompto was concerned, those were mostly for Ignis. He felt a little guilty for leaning in a bit, enjoying the comforting weight of Gladio's arm around his shoulder. 

“He's... taking it hard,” Gladio went on, voice low, “and he's still working through it.” 

That... that was a nice way of saying Ignis was blisteringly furious and low-key lashing out at everyone who wasn't Noctis – because of course Ignis wouldn't lash out at Noctis – in a strangely passive-aggressive way that made his usual witticisms sharp and pointed. 

“It's okay,” Prompto said, because he understood it, even if the sting of near-vicious criticism still stung a little. 

“Like hell it is,” Gladio snorted, and his arm flexed around Prompto's shoulders, all nice and supportive and making Prompto notice more of those things he wasn't supposed to. “He's gonna apologize to you, once he's done walking circles inside his head.” 

“That's not really... necessary,” Prompto muttered, ducking his head a little. 

Gladio didn't sound angry, per se. More like disappointed. Anger would have been better, he knew, because Gladio worked through his anger pretty quickly. But disappointment? Prompto had heard hours worth of whining from Noctis, about how thoroughly methodical Gladio could be, when venting out his disappointment. Prompto felt a stab of panic at the thought that he might be a source of conflict. He hadn't meant to give Ignis as wounded a look as he did, not if it meant Gladio saw how much the snippy comment actually hurt, and then it made things... awkward. 

“He's...” Prompto said, twitching under Gladio's arm but not quite strong enough to resist temptation and not stay there, “he didn't mean it.” 

“No, he didn't,” Gladio agreed with a little shrug, “but he did say it, and it wasn't cool. I get that he's... not in his right mind, right now, but you know what? The world went to shit for _everyone_ , not just him, and he _knows_ better.” 

Prompto opened his mouth to protest again, and Gladio sighed, before he could even start. 

“Y'know, I've noticed the way you look at him.” 

Prompto froze, lower lip trembling ever so slightly as he willed himself to simply vanish into nothing. Through the panic churning in his gut, Prompto realized that Gladio didn't seem as mad as he'd expect, when making that observation. He was still looking at him with that patient look of his, the same one he'd used that first night out in the wild, to calm him down. 

“He scared you, didn't he?” Gladio asked, though the question seemed like a formality in that tone. “At the base. You didn't know he hit that hard. And it scared you.” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Prompto let out a shuddering breath and felt the strange urge to laugh. Yes, Ignis had been... volatile and different, after their short team-up with Cor. And yeah, whenever he glared at something, Prompto couldn't help but remember that same glare and the rows of MTs falling over in pieces afterward. It was... it was weird and not very Ignis-like, at least not the Ignis he'd known until that moment. Then again, he'd never done anything to make Ignis angry, so he didn't know what to expect. 

Gladio had noticed that, because Prompto had attempted to reach out to Ignis the same way he'd reached out to Noctis, and his attempts had been rebuked rather harshly, with the resulting urge to flinch whenever Ignis saw fit to snap at him for something. 

Gladio hadn't noticed the months of Prompto watching Ignis and being easily flustered at every tiny little thing Ignis did, because Gladio was an idiot and Prompto could probably kiss him for it. 

Not that he would. 

Could. 

“I'm okay,” Prompto said, even though he really wasn't, but he'd long made peace with the fact his emotions made no sense, and no one needed to know that. “Really, Gladio. I'm okay. It's not...” 

“The thing about Iggy,” Gladio told him, with a bit of a strained smile as he shook his head and then ruffled Prompto's hair affectionately. “The thing you must absolutely never forget, when it comes to Iggy, Prom? Is that Iggy is a _dick_.” Prompto spluttered. “Like. Glorious levels of dickiness, you don't even know.” He offered a small wink. “But that's what I'm here for, y'know? I keep him in line.” He frowned a bit, even as Prompto offered his best attempt at an awkward laugh. “Don't let him get to you, okay? And don't... don't be afraid. He's a dick, yeah, but he'd never want to hurt you. I just gotta keep reminding him of that, until it actually sticks.” 

* * *

“Okay, that's it.” 

Gladio dropped his spoon into his plate and sat up straight. Noctis and Prompto looked up in unison, whereas Ignis continued to not-eat with the same tense tilt to his lips. 

“You two are going back to the caravan and locking yourselves up for the night,” Gladio announced, eyes narrowed. “Piss in a cup if you really need to,” he growled, when Noctis opened his mouth to retaliate. “Prom, anyone looks at Noct funny, you shoot them in the head. No questions asked.” He glared at Ignis. “C'mon.” 

“Where are you going?” Prompto asked, nervously, as Gladio kicked Ignis' chair when Ignis refused to move right away. 

“Nowhere,” Ignis muttered, a tad rebelliously. 

“Haven,” Gladio replied, voice loud enough to speak over Ignis' hiss. “There's gonna be yelling, you don't want to hear that.” 

“There certainly won't be,” Ignis said sharply, eyes narrowed in a way that made Prompto remember vividly the sight of him tearing an MT's head clean off with his daggers. 

“Yeah, we don't wanna hear that,” Noctis agreed, getting a hold of one of Prompto's arms and tugging him off his seat and back towards the caravan. “C'mon, Prom.” 

Prompto allowed himself to be dragged back towards the caravan, though he caught a glimpse, looking back, of Ignis snarling at Gladio as he was unceremoniously pulled off his chair. 

He swallowed hard, and told himself Gladio had to know what he was doing. 

He just had to. 

* * *

“Um,” Prompto began, and then thought better of it, sinking back into his seat as the Regalia turned left at the fork and quickly picked up speed again. 

In the back, Noctis was slumped against Gladio's side, snoring quietly as he slept on, almost defiantly. Gladio was engrossed in a book, and hadn't looked up from it in about two hours by then. 

And then there was Ignis, expression thoughtful as he kept his eyes on the road and his hands tightly holding the wheel. 

“Something the matter, Prompto?” He asked, eyes sliding sideways for less than a second. 

“Uh, no,” Prompto swallowed hard. “Nothing.” 

Ignis sighed. 

“It's... alright,” he said, painfully awkward but pushing through it because... well, because it was the right thing to do. “I am sorry for the undue stress I might... must have caused you, lately.” 

Prompto laughed quietly, sinking further into his seat. 

“It's. It's okay,” he found himself saying, looking anywhere but Ignis' way. “We're all stressed.” 

“I was cruel to you,” Ignis said quietly, sounding genuinely sorry. “When I had no reason or real desire to be. It was unworthy of me.” 

“Water under the bridge,” Prompto insisted, and resisted the urge to pull his legs up so he could curl up properly on his seat. Ignis hated when he did that, called it unsafe and glared at him until he stopped. “Right?” 

“Reparations should be made, nonetheless,” Ignis insisted, lips twitching wryly as he caught sight of Gladio's eyes in the rearview mirror. “I... may have a token peace offering, as well.” 

Prompto opened his mouth to ask, and then saw the bright neon sign fast approaching, just as Ignis turned on the turn signal to follow it. 

“No way,” Prompto whispered, eyes wide as they turned into a dirt road and passed under a brightly lit arch welcoming them to Wiz's Chocobo Post. “But we're supposed to head to Lestallum!” He blurted out, shifting on his seat to take a cautious look at Gladio's face. “Meet with Iris and the others...” 

“Iris is a big girl,” Gladio said casually, not really looking up from his book. “Waiting one day is not going to kill her. Or me, for that matter.” 

“Are you sure?” Prompto insisted, looking small and awkward and very unsure about how to go about receiving a gift graciously. He failed to notice the look Ignis and Gladio shared over the rearview mirror, at that. “Like, really, really sure? Because... because there's more important things, than ch-chocobos.” 

“Prompto,” Noctis muttered, looking at him through half-lidded, sleepy eyes, and then reached out a hand to flick his fingers on his forehead, _hard_. “Shut up and enjoy your present.” He licked his lips, frowning somewhat, before gathering aplomb. “King's orders.” 

* * *


	4. birds of a feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group handles the Chocobo crisis, Noctis nearly gets himself - and everyone else - killed, Prompto has _all the feelings_ and Gladio just wants Ignis to do his job, man.

* * *

_iv. friends of a feather_

* * *

Ignis was laughing at him, and he didn't even have the decency to make a sound. 

If he didn't have a Behemoth's stinking maws dripping drool two inches away from his head, Prompto would have whined about it. Maybe. As it was, he sat still as a statue in Gladio's lap, strong arms wrapped tight around him and profoundly grateful for the hand covering his mouth, because it mitigated the stench quite a bit and also because it covered up most of his blush. Ignis' eyes were laughing at him, though, and Prompto was a little bit too mortified at the moment to really want to consider why. 

Deadeye, mercifully, chose that moment to roar loudly into the log and then stalk away, paws falling heavily enough to be felt. 

“You still with me, Prom?” Gladio asked him, voice low and quiet, whispered straight into his ear. 

Prompto did not whimper when Gladio took his hand off his face. 

He didn't. 

He did, however, swallow hard and resisted the urge to tilt his head back, to let Gladio's breath ghost down his throat. 

He was embarrassed the urge was even there in the first place; they were in the middle of getting killed, for Ramuh's sake. He wasn't fifteen anymore, he wasn't supposed to think with his dick all the time now. And Ignis was _right there_ , not three feet away, still looking at him with the ghost of an indulgent smile that twisted into his gut like a corkscrew. 

“Yeah,” he whispered back, barely breathing out the words, when he was sure his voice was not a terrible, awkward mess. 

Well, too much, at least. 

“Good man,” Gladio chuckled, patting his left thigh like it was nothing – it _was_ nothing, obviously - before he let go of his choking hold. “Step where I step, and try not to breathe too loud.” He looked over Prompto's shoulder to arch an eyebrow at Noctis. “That means you, Noct.” 

Noctis made a show to roll his eyes and stick his tongue out. 

The next three hours were the longest in Prompto's admittedly short life. 

Partly because he couldn't see three feet ahead of him. Partly because he felt responsible for putting the entire team in danger – if he hadn't... made such a fuss about Ignis being mean to him, Ignis wouldn't have felt the need to make a pit stop before going to Lestallum and they wouldn't have met Wiz and learned about Deadeye and then Noctis wouldn't have jumped right into accepting the hunt and it was all Prompto's _fault_. But mostly because Ignis stayed behind him, closing up their little single-file formation, one hand resting square on the middle of Prompto's back. 

It was probably meant to be a comforting gesture, Prompto thought a bit hysterically, keenly aware of the weight and warmth on his spine. But that was only because Ignis was a good friend and he didn't know the kind of stupid, weird shit that kept bouncing inside Prompto's head at the smallest provocation. 

For crying out loud, these were his _friends_. His friends who were together and so in love with each other it made Prompto ache all the way to his bones. It wasn't like it'd been in school, where he went from crush to crush in a matter of days, lost in little idle fantasies that went nowhere, because he'd been well aware that he was everyone's friend, but no one's... interest. He was funny and silly and people loved to hang out with him – even, as he'd come to realize, if Noctis wasn't there to keep their attention. But these were people that mattered, truly mattered to him, and for a moment there he felt miserable, like he was certifiably the worst kind of person in the world. Normal people, he was certain, did not feel the way he did. Normal people were sensible and rational and didn't giggle stupidly over every little thing. 

Normal people were not desperate and lonely and imagined entire what-ifs and might-have-beens out of literally every person they met. 

Prompto was almost relieved when they squirmed they way into the behemoth's lair, because it meant Ignis took his hand from his back and he could focus on what was actually important: namely, not dying. 

All things considered, he did a very good job of that, even if the fight itself seemed a bit unbalanced, and not precisely in their favor. 

Deadeye was an old, battle-scarred behemoth that had survived whatever had tried so hard to kill it, to get the scars in the first place. It did not cower before them, and it certainly did not take kindly to their attempts to put it down for good. Prompto thought the fight had been going as well as it could possibly go, even if Noctis spent half of it hanging off high, throwing potions at Ignis and Gladio, who insisted on fighting in close quarters. No one was dead, despite the close calls, and frankly, after the third time that Ignis somehow managed to dodge a swipe of Deadeye's claws by a hairbreadth, Prompto thought that was a legitimate achievement. He still winced a bit, when a bottle smashed on Gladio's back or Ignis' shoulder, green specks of light enveloping them as the magic coursed through them. He made a mental note of suggesting, next time they stocked up on stuff for Noctis to enchant, that they buy things that didn't hurt when they broke. 

Then Prompto stopped thinking entirely and shrieked Noctis' name in despair, as Deadeye knocked over the antenna he'd been hanging from. Noctis warped away, four successive jumps that left behind faint impressions of blue light, but the fallen structure landed on the remnants of an old warehouse full of barrels that tumbled down onto the open space noisily, breaking up the intense fighting as both behemoth and would-be-hunters scrambled out of the way. 

From his vantage point, Prompto saw the sudden slack-faced look in Noctis' face, the one that preluded him getting one of those terrible ideas of his that shouldn't by any means work, but always did anyway. He braced himself. 

“Gladio!” Noctis roared, warping to the highest point of the half-demolished warehouse. 

He was holding a sphere of bright red magic in the hand not holding the sword embedded into the ruined building. 

Gladio stared at him for a full second and a half, before his shoulders sagged and his sword disappeared into bits of crystalized light. 

“Oh, _fuck_ me,” he growled, quite loud and clear, and then broke into a dead run straight for Ignis, who got barely a splutter out of his mouth before he was unceremoniously thrown over a broad shoulder. 

Prompto saw Gladio turn and sprint towards him, leaping up the rock formation as if Ignis weighted nothing, and let out a sound best described as a panicked squawk when Gladio's free arm plucked him unceremoniously off the ground. The world shook around then, as Gladio continued his mad dash towards the place where they'd first entered the behemoth's lair. Prompto found himself unceremoniously shoved into Ignis' waiting arms as Gladio fell on him, shielding them both from the blast of the resulting explosion with his body as the entirety of the open space became a blazing inferno as soon as they were sufficiently behind cover. The heat was so intense that Prompto fancied saliva evaporated in his mouth. 

“He's okay,” Gladio was saying, in a soothing voice, even as Prompto curled up between the two of them. “He knows what he's doing.” 

Prompto realized the body beneath him – it took him a moment to orient himself, in terms of up and down – was shaking ever so slightly. He looked up and found despair carved out of Ignis' face and it made his gut constrict like someone with Gladio's strength had punched him there as hard as they could. Prompto opened his mouth to say... something, anything that would make Ignis stop looking so terrified. But he didn't know what to say, nothing like the stream of low, gentle reassurances coming out of Gladio's mouth as they waited for the heat and the fire to die down. 

Prompto swallowed hard and then shifted, acutely aware of Gladio's weight on his back, and then slowly, cautiously, wrapped his arms around Ignis' shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. He didn't know what he'd expected, to be honest, but he was surprised when one of Ignis' arms wrapped around his back, fingers digging into his shirt as he clung back tightly. The other arm reached out to hold onto Gladio's jacket, by Prompto's side. They stayed there a moment longer, as Ignis took deep, shaken breaths, and then swallowed hard on a parched throat. 

“Six help me,” Ignis said, hoarse, “I'm going to _kill_ him myself.” 

Prompto choked on a small, hysterical laugh, which went slightly highpitched when Gladio dropped his head on his shoulder, huffing a laugh of his own. 

“Please don't,” Gladio said, voice wry and tired, “I'm still honor-bound to murder you if you do.” 

“Yeah, Ignis,” Prompto found himself saying, suddenly hyper aware of their close quarters and Gladio's breath fanning the back of his neck. “I don't wanna shoot you, man.” 

Ignis let out a small huff of breath that Prompto fancied was a snort. He'd stopped shaking all together, by then, but he was still holding onto them. Prompto was sure him holding onto Gladio was normal, them being... them, and all. But he wasn't sure what it meant, Ignis' grip on his back, tight and determined, as if he weren't... as if he weren't in the way. He laid still and told his mind to stop thinking idle thoughts, licking his dry lips nervously, over and over again. 

“Guys?” Noctis' voice called from a distance, above the roaring of the dying flames. “You alright over there?” 

Gladio breathed deeply, and Ignis echoed it. Prompto felt it like a ripple all around him. It didn't feel exactly bad, either. 

“Okay, you can kill him _a little_ ,” Gladio muttered with a snort, before he slowly pulled away from them, and Prompto became keenly aware he could suddenly _breathe_. “Noct! We're okay!” 

Prompto scrambled up a lot less gracefully, torn between not overstaying his welcome and betraying his unruly thoughts, and wanting to help Ignis back onto his feet. 

“Looks like it's roasted behemoth for dinner tonight,” Noctis said, as they walked back towards what had been Deadeye's lair, and found him standing next to the charred remains. 

He had the nerve to look smug. Prompto hooted a laugh and ran to him, throwing his arms around him as soon as he was within grabbing distance. 

“Dude!” He cried out, “that was _amazing_.” 

Noctis let Prompto spin them a bit, though by the time Gladio and Ignis had reached them, both walking at a more sedate pace, he had an arm comfortably thrown over Prompto's shoulder. 

“I know, right?” He gave his Shield and his Adviser a cheeky grin. “Quick thinking, too. Frankly, I even amaze myself sometimes.” 

Ignis looked constipated. Gladio put a hand on his lower back, not pushing or holding back, just reminding him he was there by touch alone. He gave Noctis a dry look. 

“Your _ego_ is what amazes me,” he informed him, one eyebrow arched mockingly. 

Prompto felt Noctis bristle a little. He laughed, perhaps too loud for it to not be obvious, and offered them all a bright smile, stopping Noctis from saying something unwise. 

“I'm just amazed we actually made it.” 

* * *

Wiz was understandably ecstatic when they made the trek back the next day, to collect on the hunt. The added gil – which they sorely needed, to replenish everything they'd used during that fight – and the man's sincere appreciation were enough to wear down Ignis' temper and Gladio's irritation with Noctis. Prompto figured Noctis was going to spend the entire ride to Lestallum enchanting little bottles of energy drinks, and both Gladio and Ignis considered that punishment enough for his recklessness, considering Noctis found the process both tedious and boring. He'd certainly spent most of the morning weaving the magic from the deposits near camp into spells, muttering angrily under his breath the entire time. 

“Now I know we've done business the hunters way,” Wiz told them, as he served them a stack of meat, bread and veggies that was more like a mountain of sandwiches than anything else. Prompto caught the glint in Ignis' eye and resisted the urge to grin. “But that bounty was up for eight months, before you boys came along to claim it and sorted it out in less than a day. So I hope you don't mind if I feel you've earned a little extra.” He pulled a wistle from his pocket and brought it to his lips, but no sound came out. Almost immediately though, they heard rumblings behind the main building, and four chocobos came running at him, stopping just a few feet away. Wiz beamed at them proudly. “These are my racing team,” he anounced, arms spread wide. “Fastest legs in all of Duscae, all four of them. They're not usually up for rent, but I can make an exception for you, boys.” 

“...seriously?” Prompto blurted out, excitement making his entire being shake in his seat. “For real?” 

Wiz laughed as he nodded. 

“Sure as I raised them myself, yeah,” he said, and beckoned them close. “All you gotta do now is choose your mount and introduce yourselves. They're smart, my birds. You whistle for them and they'll come to you, no matter where you are. Even if you step on the gas too hard,” he added, nodding at the Regalia parked by the main entrance, “they'll track you down when you need them.” 

Noctis ended up choosing – or, more accurately, being chosen by – a beautiful white chocobo that had simply stepped up and began nuzzling his head with its beak, like it was fussing over a chick. Gladio picked a dark orange bird that looked more than sturdy enough to carry his weight, while Ignis favored a greenish blue one that puffed up contently when he ran his fingers through the feathers down its neck. Prompto, for his part, had automatically migrated to the last of the four, a bright yellow chocobo that chirped happily when he hugged it and nearly sank into the fluff of its feathers. 

“Thank you,” Noctis said, smiling bright enough it reached his eyes for the first time since the news of Insomnia's fall had reached them. “Really. This is... You didn't have to do this.” 

Wiz gave him a smirk as he looked them over, expression satisfied. 

“You'll find, around Duscae, people don't really have to do anything they don't damn well feel like.” 

* * *

Ignis sat on one of the dirty white chairs around the small food stand, facing the gas pumps and the shop where Noctis had disappeared into, along with a list of necessities Ignis told him to stock up on. Prompto sat by Ignis' left, poking at the remains of his lunch with a puzzled frown, as he focused on Ignis' eagle-eyed attention on Noctis and prettended real hard he wasn't seated the right way to notice Gladio chatting up a woman across the parking lot. 

“Can I ask you something?” Prompto found himself asking, after mulling the question over and over inside his head. “It's dumb and it's none of my business and you can totally tell me to stuff it and I will.” 

Ignis chuckled lightly, though he did not take his eyes off the store's front. 

“You may,” he said, “though I would point out, in the interest of full disclosure, that such considerations have never stopped you before.” Prompto flushed a lovely shade of scarlet, Ignis noticed from the corner of his eye, and then reached out a hand and placed it on top of Prompto's wrist. “It's merely a jest, Prompto, you know well my policy regarding your questions.” 

“There's no foolish questions,” Prompto recited from memory, smiling a little awkwardly and feeling a pulse of warmth shot right through him as Ignis squeezed his wrist encouragingly. “Only fools who don't know how to ask when they don't know something. Yeah.” Prompto swallowed hard. “This isn't math homework, though.” 

“Nevertheless,” Ignis replied, voice conciliatory and welcoming like it had always been, when they were alone and Prompto had something chewing at his mind. “The sentiment still stands. Ask away.” 

Prompto chased stray peas with his fork for a while longer, thinking on how to best phrase it. He'd decided to ask Ignis, in a roundabout way, to help get some perspective on the mess inside his head. Of course he wasn't going to confess his feelings – his stupid, unrepentant, confusing, nonsensical feelings – or any of the ridiculous thoughts that seemed to enjoy living inside his head and morifying him four times an hour, all day. But talking with Ignis always helped, even if he had to think hard and make sure he didn't say anything he shouldn't. It wasn't like with Noctis, with whom Prompto felt he could share anything – well, almost anything, except the obvious, unwanted crush, but that was still a lot more that he felt comfortable saying without thought, than when it came to Ignis. Ignis never judged him for his questions, but nonetheless, Prompto always tried his best to not make them obnoxious or stupid. 

“Why aren't you mad?” Prompto asked quietly, looking under his lashes to where Gladio was chatting animately with the girl wearing the bright red hat. His body was turned to her, in an easy stance that even Prompto could recognize as flirty. He did that often, he'd noticed. He flirted with waitresses whenever they stopped by a rest stop for a meal, and with shopkeepers and hunters. He didn't even hide it, or stop it, even if Ignis was right there to see it. “About... about Gladio flirting with... just about everyone. I mean, he got us a discount, in Galdin Quay, but. I dunno. You're _together_.” 

Prompto felt himself flush as he sank further into his seat when he realized he'd managed to make Ignis look away from the store. He was looking at him intently, as if considering his answer carefully, and the weight of his gaze made Prompto want to fidget. 

“You're right,” Ignis said after a moment, “this is certainly not math homework.” Prompto flinched, and Ignis squeezed his wrist reassuringly, returning his eyes back to the store, where he could barely see Noctis walk around in circles, trying to grab everything at once. “It is, however, something I do not feel comfortable discussing in full, without Gladio's consent. This is not, after all, only my relationship. But,” he added, along with another squeeze as Prompto shrunk some more, “I will say this. I love him," Prompto did not expect the curl of emotion twisting in his gut at such a straightforward admission, "I can't be mad at him for being himself, anymore than he would be mad at me, for being myself.” He caught Prompto's eye and gave him a small smile. “Hopefully one day, you'll get the chance to experience this for yourself, Prompto. Relationships are all about communication, about boundaries and agreements and understanding what works best for you and your partner, or partners.” If he noticed the way Prompto stopped breathing for a moment there, Ignis didn't let it show. His voice remained steady, and kind. “If you must become someone else entirely, for the sake of your relationship working, that relationship is, by definition, already not working.” 

He smirked a little, amused as Noctis came out of the store balancing bags awkwardly, looking rather put out by the whole affair. Ignis patted Prompto's shoulder as he stood up. 

“Alas, we can continue this discussion later, I fear our King is in need of assistance.” 

Prompto took another moment to get moving, following Ignis with his eyes as he strolled confidently over to Noctis and swiftly claimed the bags. He also didn't miss the fact Gladio smoothly disengaged from his conversation as soon as Ignis stood up, and joined him at Noctis' side almost at the same time. Prompto scooped up the peas and swallowed them without even tasting them, before he made his way to his friends, head full of thoughts fluttering aimlessly everywhere. 

He was only grateful the ride to Lestallum would be long enough to give him time to think, though he sort of dreaded the thinking as well. He had a feeling not even Noctis complaining about making potions and elixers would be a good enough distraction. 

“You okay, Prom?” Gladio asked him, as they filed back into the Regalia, “Iggy didn't say anything shitty again, did he?” 

Prompto flushed. 

“Oh. No,” he shook his head vigorously. “No, we were. Talking. Totally chill, Big Guy. Really.” 

“Good,” Gladio nodded, smiling easily, and shoved Prompto's shoulder playfully. “We'll teach you to stand up for yourself just yet. But in the meantime, he pulls that crap again, you let me know, right?” 

“I'm _right here_ ,” Ignis pointed out, rolling his eyes with a flourish as he took his seat behind the wheel. “And I can assure you, Prompto and I were simply enjoying a nice conversation.” 

“Well, good!” Gladio snorted as he shuffled in place. “'cause keeping the peace is your job and I suck at it.” 

Ignis laughed quietly and Prompto echoed it, albeit more awkwardly. Noctis snorted as the Regalia roared to life. 

“You guys are _weird_.” 

* * *


	5. burden of expectation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang reaches Lestallum. Prompto and Gladio take turns being oblivious, while Ignis draws a line, much to Gladio's chagrin.

* * *

_v. burden of expectation._

* * *

Lestallum was hot. 

Worse, Lestallum was hot and _humid_. The heat sneaked under their clothes and trailed lines of sweat everywhere, sticky and gross and borderline torture-like. 

“Man,” Prompto said, watching Ignis close the car with a frown. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sweat before, Ignis.” 

“I do not _sweat_ ,” Ignis replied, nose wrinkling slightly as he pushed his glasses up his nose and resisted the urge to wipe his face with his sleeve. “I _glisten_.” 

“He does,” Gladio laughed, wiggling his eyebrows and earning himself a slight glare for his troubles. 

“Gross,” Noctis muttered, discreetly shoving his hands into his pockets so he could shake his loose pants and try to keep them from sticking to his legs. “You know where Iris and the others are staying, Gladio?” 

“Yeah, the Leville,” Gladio replied, shrugging and then ignoring Ignis’ eyeroll when he gave up pretenses and took the jacket off. 

It was hot and humid, and he was, for once, not the only one walking around shirtless. 

Prompto became intensely interested on the ground, willing his traitorous ears to stop burning. 

“C’mon,” Noctis said resolutely, taking charge and heading into the city proper with a determined stride. “The Leville sounds like somewhere with A/C.” 

Prompto started to follow, but he noticed that both Gladio and Ignis were standing still. He blinked at them. 

“You wanna tell him he’s going the wrong way?” Gladio mused with a slight grin, scar twitching as his eyes danced in amusement. 

“Normally, I’d refrain from crushing his enthusiasm,” Ignis sighed, “but I am literally melting.” 

Gladio gave him the goofiest smile his face could muster. 

Prompto went right back to staring at his shoes. 

“Hot.” 

Ignis didn’t deign to answer, and instead set off briskly to steer Noctis in the right direction. Prompto made a squeaky noise, like his soul was literally trying to claw its way out of his throat, when Gladio threw an arm around his shoulders and tugged him along. 

“Dude!” He said, stumbling a little until he found his footing again. “Not cool. You’re _not_ glistening.” 

* * *

There was a point, not even Prompto’s unruly mind could wander away. It was too hot to think, much less daydream. He kind of wished the answer to his prayers was not heat that made him feel like his bones were melting into goop under his skin. Though he supposed it could be worse, given they were all lying in varying states of undress around the room. Prompto didn’t even really appreciate the rare sight of Gladio’s long legs bare for all to see. 

“I’m dying,” Noctis muttered miserably, lying face first into the bed, clad only in a pair of black boxers with tiny silver crowns printed all over them. 

“Me first,” Prompto whined, sitting on the floor - it’d been colder when he’d first sat there, soaking up the feeling of cool, polished wood under his skin, but by now it was lukewarm and sticky and he swore he felt his skin peel a little every time he moved. 

He considered taking off the white tank top, which was by now stuck onto his skin and slowly working its way into becoming transparent, but he reasoned Gladio had the shirtlessness quota covered for the entire room. 

“You know, I thought Leide was as hot as it got,” Gladio mused wryly, “what with it being a literal desert and all.” 

“That’s hardly an accurate descriptor,” Ignis pointed out, eyes half lidded as he leaned against the open window, letting the breeze - not as cool as he’d have preferred - roll against his back, through the thin shirt he wore. “Shortgrass prairie might be a more on point label.” 

There was a profound silence, then, as they contemplated the best way to respond to that. 

“Iggy?” Gladio asked, tilting his head back on his chair so he could look at him. 

“Mmm?” 

“Shut up.” 

Prompto admitted, later on, that he might have probably overdone it a little, when he hugged the girl that came to finally fix the A/C vent in their room. She didn’t really seem to mind, all things considered, at least. 

* * *

Ignis was writing on his little recipe book the next morning, as they ate breakfast without Noctis. Prompto hadn’t know even Ignis could admit defeat, but apparently the combination of heat and exhaustion and humidity \- seriously, he hadn’t really known heat could be this dreadful, just because it happened to be wet - was more than he was willing to gamble on, and Noctis was thus left to sleep in as much as he wanted. Prompto focused on befriending Talcott instead, to keep his mind on a tight leash. He was a nice kid, eyes bright and brighter mind, in Prompto’s eyes. 

“You have to see the market, Ignis, it’s _huge_ ,” and well, that was that. 

Prompto couldn’t say he minded too much. The city was new and completely different from Insomnia, much smaller but no less lovely, in his opinion. He captured two dozen shots just on the walk to the sprawling labyrinth of tents and stands. Prompto was used to the more organized structure in Insomnia, with actual buildings for each separate store, and he found himself fascinated by the sights and smells in the dozens of small, narrow walkways. He wondered, however, if there had been something like it in Insomnia, given Ignis’ ease at navigating the place, and the almost familiarity with which he talked to various merchants, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Prompto allowed himself to entertain the thought it was maybe just Ignis being perfect at everything as usual, rather than wallow on the thought that he would never know, now, if Insomnia has plazas like this, the secret lost with the city itself. He followed along as Talcott and Ignis chatted amicably and Gladio offered a comment here and there - mostly not so subtle questions about what Ignis planned to do with everything he was buying - and let his eyes slide over the various displays of produce and meat and trinkets, all sprawled without any real rhyme or reason. 

Something caught his eye in one of the stands, however, tucked nearly out of sight under a small pile of rolled up toolkits, a helpful sign proclaiming them “a motorist’s best friend". Technically speaking, Prompto had some money on him. He took part in their hunts, after all, and Ignis always split their funds in half - one to cover their over all expenses, and the other half to be further split among them, to be used as they saw fit. Mostly it meant Gladio sneaking cartons of cup noodles into their supplies when Ignis wasn’t looking, Ignis spending most of his on ingredients, and Noctis buying one of each type of beer they stumbled upon, determined still to find one that he liked - actually liked, not just drank because he wanted to shut Gladio up. Prompto bought film, spare memory sticks and paid to have his favorite shots printed. 

It wasn’t outrageously expensive, but he debated with himself and the knee-jerk impulse to get it. 

“Prompto?” Ignis called, just about to turn round the corner. 

Prompto passed along the gil to the merchant with a small smile. 

“Going!” 

He’d worry about it later. 

* * *

Prompto decided he was going to be nice to Talcott for the rest of his natural life, when he brought the tour of the city to a close by leading them to a brightly colored stand selling popsicles. 

“Grape’s my favorite,” Talcott announced proudly, and Prompto gave up resisting the urge and just ruffled his hair affectionately, grinning. 

“Lemon for me,” he told him, raising his treat in a salute, before he popped it into his mouth. “Man, these are good,” Prompto added, sighing contently, and didn’t even worry if talking was hard with said popsicle in his mouth. “ _Aaaah_.” 

“ _Gladio_ ,” Ignis hissed, in a tone that made Prompto look up in surprise, since he sounded decidedly unamused. 

He found Ignis glaring bloody murder at a strangely sheepish Gladio. 

“But…” 

“ **No** ,” Ignis said frostily. 

Prompto weighed his options as he sucked on the rapidly melting stick in his mouth, and then walked up to them, deciding to be placating instead. It wasn’t like he could help himself. It was like there was something wrong with the universe, whenever Gladio and Ignis’ bickering turned sharp. 

“You guys should really get some,” Prompto told them, offering what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “They’re like, wicked good in this heat.” 

Though admittedly the heat was far more tolerable, now that they weren’t also reeling from hours of driving about. Gladio laughed, but it wasn’t his usual, amused laugh. It sounded a little strained, to Prompto’s ears, and he worried maybe he shouldn’t have interrupted. Gladio didn’t seem keen on meeting his eyes for some reason. Prompto wondered if he’d pissed him off somehow, but then Ignis nodded, looking at him without the apparent irritation that he seemed intent on reserving exclusively for Gladio. 

“Certainly,” Ignis replied, and then his lips quirked into a tiny ghost of a smile. “Talcott would be heartbroken if we didn’t, after all.” 

Prompto looked between them, frowning a little. Then Talcott reached out to hold his hand and tug him along to see a shop full of clocks about to hit noon at once, and as Prompto stared at the cacophony of clocks and trinkets dancing the hour, he summarily decided not to think about it. 

He had enough thinking to do, anyway, for when they left Lestallum. A little more or a little less wouldn’t make any difference. 

* * *

“ _Gladio_.” 

Prompto pretended not to look, when he realized Ignis was using the same exasperated tone again. It was a mixture of warning and testy, and he was inwardly very glad he’d never actually been subject to it. 

“Still just looking!” Gladio hissed, not as low as he intended, Prompto supposed, considering he heard it quite clearly. 

Then again, one of the things that had always puzzled Cor during their training was the fact Prompto’s hearing was excellent, even in the middle of shooting some of the higher calibers available. Prompto had tried to make light of it - well, as much as he dared, in the Immortal’s presence - but in the end Cor had been benevolent enough to include it in Prompto’s reports as an asset. The thought made Prompto want to chuckle, though given how he was busy chewing through a plate of skewers, he refrained. 

His grand list of assets, at the end of his training to join Noctis’ Crownsguard were, in order of importance: his friendship with Noctis, his higher than average aim record, his engineering background, his excellent sense of hearing (and borderline immunity to gunfire echo) and his ability to whine, rather than cry, when getting his ass kicked. Prompto had been put off by that last one, since Cor had actually gone and put it on record, exactly like that, but then he’d thought about it, and considering it had been Cor who’d done the ass kicking, he supposed crying _would_ be the expected reaction. 

“Yes,” Ignis hissed back, a bit quieter, but not enough Prompto couldn’t hear. “But you usually go right into _doing_ , after you’re done looking.” 

Prompto chewed a little harder and tried very hard to stop listening in. Eavesdropping was rude. And awkward. 

“C’mon, Iggy,” Gladio whispered, voice dropping into that tone that sounded like honey to Prompto’s ears and never failed to make him squirm a little. “Gimme some credit, I’m not that stupid.” 

Prompto failed to resist the urge and look. Gladio was giving Ignis his full attention, leaning in to face him. It suddenly became crystal clear to Prompto, how different his posture was, than when he was flirting with other people. It was hard to explain, exactly. Gladio commanded attention easily, by size and looks alone, and he didn’t seem in the least bit shy about it, basking in the attention when he chatted people - mostly girls - up. When Gladio looked at Ignis, though, it always seemed like the rest of the world ceased to exist. Prompto wondered, in the deep, cavernous corners of his soul, what it would feel like, to have someone look at him like that. 

_I love him_ , Ignis had told him, straightforward and without preamble. In the same tone he’d say, _the sky is blue_ or _Noct hates greens_. 

Prompto looked away from them, and picked up his next skewer, ignoring the throb somewhere under his lungs. 

“Looking isn’t a crime,” Gladio insisted, as Prompto went on nibbling off his skewer thoughtfully. 

Ignis sighed, but didn’t argue any further. 

* * *

“Huh, didn’t expect to find you here, Prom.” 

Prompto hoped against all hope that he wasn’t blushing as hotly as he felt he was, when he looked up and found Gladio leaning on the doorway. Stupid Noctis for giving him a stupid nickname that _stuck_. Stupid Gladio sounding so _fond_ of him, whenever he used it. It did things to Prompto’s poor gut. 

He smiled, ignoring the fluttering under his ribs. 

“Hey, Big Guy,” Prompto said brightly, waving a little with a small screwdriver in hand. 

Because he could use nicknames too. He could. The fact his nicknames didn’t make people feel warm and fuzzy all the way inside wasn’t the point. The point was that nicknames were no big deal. 

_No big deal._

“Didn’t want to go help Iggy buy half the market before we leave?” Gladio asked, walking into the room and coming to sit on the edge of the bed where Prompto was busy taking his camera apart to clean it. 

“Nah,” Prompto said, shrugging a little. “I’m like. The worst at shopping.” 

“Dunno about that,” Gladio laughed, watching Prompto’s hands as he fiddled with tiny screws and paper thin gears. “Iggy says you’ve got a really good head on your shoulders, when it comes to nutrition.” 

He grinned as Prompto’s face definitely flushed if not as, then _hotter_ than it felt. Prompto whined in protest when Gladio reached a hand and casually ruffled his hair. 

“Man, _c’mon_ , not the hair!” Prompto waved the hand away, glaring a little because… well, because a man had to have limits! 

“Aww, but it’s all soft and fluffy,” Gladio teased, grin widening as Prompto’s glare narrowed into an offended squint. “It’s just begging for a good ruffle!” 

“Ignis has nice hair too!” Prompto told him, huffing as he combed his fingers through his mussed up locks and tried to get them back to the artistically disheveled look he prefered. “Go ruffle _his_ hair!” 

Gladio laughed. 

“Ha!” He scoffed, “like I’ve got a death wish!” He shook his head and heaved himself up, stretching as he stood. Prompto told himself he was glaring, not staring. Definitely. “Gonna take a shower before dinner, okay?” 

Prompto ended up most certainly squinting. 

“...okay?” 

Gladio rolled his eyes at him. 

“Whatever.” 

Prompto watched him disappear into the bathroom and then shrugged, going back to cleaning his camera. Surprisingly, photography-on-the-hunt, as he liked to call it, came with tons of dirt and grit. The finer, smaller set of tools he’d bought at the market were perfect for the job, though, and Prompto smiled to himself, satisfied with a savvy purchase. He hummed under his breath as he worked, his voice not loud enough to obscure the echo of running water coming from beyond the closed door. He congratulated himself, as he finished putting the camera back together, on not letting his mind wander inappropriately, even with such a tempting set up. Then he realized Gladio was taking a fairly long shower, after all, and Prompto’s mind gleefully reminded him that of course Gladio would take longer to shower than the rest of them. Gladio had a lot more… well, Gladio, to clean. 

Lots and lots more, clearly. 

Prompto put his camera away and then gave in, groaning as he folded his legs up and buried his face into his knees. 

Quick, brain! Prompto thought a little desperately, don’t think about _that_ \- that being Gladio and all his… well, Gladio-ness, naked under the spray; it wasn’t like he had to imagine too much to fill in the blanks, after all. Think… think… hair ruffles! Prompto scowled a bit on reflex, eyes narrowing a tad as he landed on that. There was nothing sexy or interesting or… or inappropriate about hair ruffles. Hair ruffles were the _worst_. 

Except for the bit where Gladio’s eyes always seemed to soften a little, when he did it, and even if he hated it - his poor, poor painstakingly styled hair! - he couldn’t deny there was a certain charm to the gesture. Prompto couldn’t really see Noctis or Ignis, or anyone else he knew for that matter, doing something like that. It should have been demeaning, like he was being treated like a child, or something, but somehow it wasn’t. Not really. He knew Gladio did it to tease him, that much was obvious, but it was… it was like an inside joke. A bit of scripted routine, between them. 

Prompto buried his nose deeper into his knees, mortified. 

“Okay, no.” He mussed his own hair, huffing. “This has to _stop_ , Prompto.” 

“What has to stop?” 

Prompto looked up abruptly, then froze, then gaped, and then flailed as he looked away so hard, he fell off the bed. 

“Gladio!” He yelled, face permanently set to neon pink, behind his hands, “warn a guy! What the hell!” 

Gladio watched the whole spectacle with a blank face and then rolled his eyes. 

“It’s a dick, Prompto,” he said, a bit exasperated because, well, honestly, that kind of reaction would bite at anyone’s pride. He rolled his eyes as he made his way to his bed and rummaged around his bag for some clean clothes. “I mean, probably bigger than you’re used to,” he added, because he would be lying if he didn’t own up the fact he was a vain creature by nature, “but still. A dick. It’s nothing you’ve never seen before.” 

“Yeah, but that one’s mine!” Prompto retorted, eyes peeking cautiously over the rim of the bed. Satisfied to see that Gladio had at least slipped on some pants, Prompto crawled back up. “Like, seriously, _warn_ a guy!” 

“You’re kidding, right?” Gladio asked, genuinely surprised for a moment, before he blinked. “Man, I keep forgetting you never lived in the barracks.” 

“Huh?” Prompto blinked back as Gladio snorted. 

“The Crownsguard’s barracks,” Gladio explained, leaning back. “Lots of people join, because the job comes with housing and food, on top of the pay. Though the housing’s communal, until you graduate from training. You know, shared showers and rooms and all that.” He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “My old man wouldn’t let me get special treatment, just ‘cause I was his son. So I lived with my squad, just like everyone else, until I graduated.” He sounded oddly wistful, but then he seemed to realize it, because he looked at Prompto with a smirk. “Trust me, after the fourth time you take a shower with twenty other guys in the same room, you… kind of stop noticing the dicks.” 

Prompto hesitated for a moment, but then decided to follow his lead. Gladio really wasn’t the kind of person who enjoyed wallowing, and Prompto supposed, they were all coping with stuff on their own way. He laughed as he sat on the bed, cross-legged. 

“I don’t think I could ever stop noticing the dicks,” Prompto snorted. “That’s just. It’s there! Right there! In your face!” 

Gladio choked a bit, at that, and then roared a laugh. 

“Oh?” He said, leaning to rest his arms on his thighs, smirking. “Shall I help you get over it? Exposure therapy could do the trick!” 

Prompto threw a pillow at his face. 

“No way!” He cried out dramatically, but he was laughing too. 

Prompto realized he’d made a tactical mistake as he caught the glint in Gladio’s eye as he held the pillow casually, as casually as he usually held his sword. 

“So! Does that mean you _want_ to keep noticing them?” He smiled. It was not a comforting smile. 

“Aww, shit,” Prompto squeaked as he backpedalled and tried to escape when the larger man lunged at him. “C’mon, man!” 

Noctis and Ignis came back right in the middle of the bloodiest, dirtiest of all pillow fights. Gladio was big and Gladio was strong, but Prompto fought dirty and refused to feel guilty about it in the slightest. 

“...really, guys?” Noctis asked, blinking as he caught sight of Prompto, perched on Gladio’s shoulders, trying his best to smother him with a pillow while Gladio tried to pry him off his person. 

Prompto slid off his perch guiltily. 

“Well,” Ignis said, giving Gladio a piercing, judging look, “at least no one’s hurt.” 

Gladio grinned cheekily. 

“Or naked,” he offered innocently, and allowed his grin to widen as Prompto spluttered and swung a pillow at his head on reflex. 

“ _Gladio!_ ” 

* * *


	6. spinning a yarn (i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto adapts, because it's what he knows how to do, and inside his head, the question festers.

* * *

_vi. spinning a yarn (i)_

* * *

“Noct!” Ignis called out, frowning. “Overhead!” 

The sight was familiar, but not comforting; an imperial warship, full of MTs gunning for their heads. Prompto sighed, and realized he was irritated about the prospect of battle the same way he used to be irritated at the prospect of math homework ruining a perfectly good afternoon. The thought disturbed him a little, but not enough to distract him from what needed doing. 

“Prompto,” Noctis said, wading out of the lake as the ship folded open like a gaping mouth, MTs falling out of it in neat little rows. “Whenever you're ready.” 

“Yeah,” Prompto offered a small grin, nonetheless. “You've got it, dude.” 

The crossbow was heavy and unwieldy, but it fell into his hands almost like it'd been built with him in mind. Prompto set his feet slightly apart as he balanced the cubbersome weapon in his grip and braced himself for the recoil. By the time the last of the MTs landed in formation, he was ready for them. He didn't really think too hard about it, seeing without looking, as he took aim and mowed down at least two rows of MTs before the crossbow overheated. But by then, the precise lines had broken, Gladio was leaping in with a monstrous swing, and Ignis and Noctis were leaping over him, daggers and sword at the ready. Prompto kept to the sidelines, picking out the stranglers before they could start shooting. 

It was easier every time. Faster. Bang, headshot. 

It's just robots, Prompto told himself, after each time. Big bags of gears and springs, no more. But then they screeched when they died, a ghost of voices echoing just before they crumbled. 

Prompto heard the screams in his dreams, every night, but no one else seemed to notice. No one else seemed to care, either. Then he would remember, as he laid back, staring at the ceiling of the tent, that they had all been groomed for it, since birth. Noctis had known he would fight the Empire, Prompto knew, that he'd known it even as his father made gestures to end the war, because the Empire was not the kind of thing that stopped on its own. It needed to be stopped, forcefully, one chirring, shrieking MT at the time. Gladio gave into the fight – monsters, daemons, MTs – without a second thought, teeth bared and expression fierce, because this was his job, his reason for living: to reduce anything that threatened Noctis into a gory paste smeared against the landscape. Ignis' entire existence was tailor made to wrap around Noctis like a second skin, and if Noctis had to stop the Empire, Ignis would be there, by his side, every step of the way. 

And then there was... him. 

Just a kid along for the ride with no real reason to be there at all, save the fact Noctis enjoyed his company. Gladio was the Shield, and Ignis the dagger in the shadows. He was just the _amusement_. He was... not really okay with that, but that's what it was and there was nothing he could do to change it. And even if he was just the amusement, he sure as hell wasn't going to be dead weight. So Prompto took to scavanging bits and pieces of fallen MT machinery to upgrade what they'd managed to take so far, and he learned how to use it to the best of his ability. It wasn't so different from the gattling guns Cor had him try, at some point during his training, and Prompto was glad for it, even if at the time the notion that he'd need to mow down things with one of those had been utterly ludicrous. Prompto was reminded, yet again, that Cor was a living legend for a reason. 

“Right,” Noctis said, letting his sword wink out of existence. “Back to it, those frogs aren't going to find themselves.” 

“Dude, you're like... the frog whisperer,” Prompto pointed out, grinning as Noctis glared a little. “All – ribbit – hail – ribbit – the King – ribbit!” 

He shrieked a bit when Noctis kicked water and mud at him, laughing at the mock-angry look on his face. He realized that Ignis and Gladio were hanging back, again, too far back for even Prompto to hear them if they were talking. But when he turned to look for them, he found Ignis pointing a warning finger at Gladio's face. Gladio saw him looking, and flushed a little, looking embarrassed. Prompto figured he was interrupting, even from that distance, and quickly turned to trail after Noctis, ears burning bright red. 

“Prompto,” Ignis called, as he walked briskly to catch up to them. Prompto braced, but all Ignis said was, “you've improved.” 

Prompto blinked, clearly not used to praise of any kind. He flushed a bit, when Ignis sighed loudly at his reaction. He shifted his eyes a bit further back and found Gladio grinning, giving him two very enthusiastic thumbs up. 

“Th-thanks,” Prompto muttered, shrugging awkwardly. “But I literally just pull the trigger. There's. There's not a lot of skill to it.” 

Ignis narrowed his eyes, looking like he wanted to argue. But then Gladio caught up to them and threw an arm around each, pushing them forward. 

“It looks cool as hell, at least,” he laughed, and Prompto barely managed to duck under his arm as it began to move, aiming for a well placed hair ruffle. Gladio snorted as Prompto flashed him a pleased smirk. The hair ruffles hadn't stopped, despite Prompto's protests, but they had, by then, morphed into a very careful game of tag. “You get points for style, at least.” 

Prompto huffed. 

“I'd get more points if you stopped messing with my hair,” he said, trying his best impression of Ignis' unamused face. 

Ignis snorted at the sight, which Prompto took to mean he was at least passable at it. 

“He's got you there.” 

“Yeah well-” 

“Are you guys gonna help or not?” Noctis called, standing knee-deep into the muck of the pond, hands planted on his hips. “Because if you're just gonna mess around, I'm going fishing.” 

“Aye, aye, your brat-jesty,” Gladio replied, and shot Prompto a smirk when he choked on a laugh at the monicker. 

Ignis sighed again, shaking his head in mock-despair. 

* * *

Prompto started to take photos in the middle of battle, usually in the space between his machinery overheating and him finding the right spot to stand. Ignis looked vaguely disapproving about the idea, though he always offered compliments when they reviewed the reel at the end of the day. Gladio thought it was the most hysterical thing, though he always bragged about any cool shots he starred in. Noctis just accused him of trying to immortalize the worst of his warping mishaps. 

It helped, with the stress and the feelings and all the stupid, weird thoughts bouncing aimlessly inside his head, just like he'd hoped it would. 

He'd gotten into photography at the tender age of ten, when his father had been moved to Accordo, as part of the diplomatic envoy there, and his mother had soon followed after him. They hadn't wanted to put him in danger, of course, so they'd left him behind, safe behind the Wall in Insomnia. Prompto had been a rather poor artist, at that age – and to be honest, he wasn't all that better, now – so his attempts to decorate his letters left him feeling dumb for it. He'd found an old camera, during one of those monthly cleanups he went on, when he realized the house was falling apart at the seems, and after securing permission to actually use it, he'd determined to chronicle his life to the best of his ability. Surely, his parents would appreciate the snapshots. Surely. 

By the time he was thirteen, he'd stopped sending letters altogether, but he'd found there was its own kind of pleasure, to taking pictures for the sake of taking pictures. 

He'd also learned to separate himself from things, by standing behind the lens. He could frame reality, in each shot, crop it into a tight, cohesive whole that didn't threaten to spiral out of control and take him with it as it did. The world was frighteningly wide, full of people with complex feelings and histories that he couldn't hope to understand. But he could carve bits and pieces out of the whole, with his camara. He could capture profound beauty and gutwrenching sadness, and all the difference was the angle or the exposure. He could create, in a way, his own vision of the world, but the crucial bit, was that he did so without changing the actual world at all. Prompto always thought it was a cowardly way of exploring the world, but he'd also always known he was a coward, and so it fit. He wasn't strong enough to face the world as it was, all the encompassing, frightening depth of it at once. He didn't have friends or family or any of those things normal people did, to help them navigate life, because he wasn't normal and it wasn't okay, but he was used to it. It was how it had always been. 

He supposed he knew how to make the best of things, if nothing else. 

Pictures helped him think, giving him a framework to keep his thoughts from getting out of hand, or derailed into things that weren't useful – but not necessarily untrue. He took pictures of flowers and landscapes and birds and monsters and even daemons, and then sat by the fire long after everyone had fallen asleep inside the tent, passing through the images to keep his focus. He thought and thought and thought, about Ignis' words and Gladio's grin and Noctis' moods and Cindy's smile. 

He had a question, for Ignis, but he didn't know if he wanted it answered. 

He didn't know if he wanted to entertain hope of a favorable answer, when it could very clearly not be. And Ignis would answer him, if he asked, because Ignis was smart and thoughtful and knowledgeable, but he also expected Prompto to ask only if he really wanted to know. 

Ignis had said _partners_ , as in plural, as in more than one, as if maybe it wasn't weird and creepy and fucked up, to have feelings for more than one person at the time. Prompto wanted to believe that, had never wanted anything more in his life, not even Noctis. Prompto wanted the validation that maybe he wasn't stupid or broken, somehow. That his feelings were truthful, even if they seemed contradictory and all over the place. Noctis called him a serial crusher, but that implied his crushes came one after the other, not all of them at once. It didn't explain why Prompto thought Cindy was perfect and lovely and gorgeous in every possible way, and he was still left breathless, sometimes, by the realization of how legitimately perfect Gladio's muscles were. Photographs made the feelings worse, sometimes, because they allowed him to capture moments that spoke volumes and fed that unruly twitch in his gut, as he invariably found himself wondering about someone's best qualities and how to capture them on film. 

But Ignis had said _partners_ , pointedly, like a reality that needed to be acknowledged and accounted for. 

Prompto knew he was a coward, though, and had made peace with it a very long time ago. 

If anyone noticed the sudden increase of Ignis front and center in the highlight shots he shared at the end of each day, no one said anything. 

“You taken any good shots today?” Gladio asked as he dropped to the ground next to Prompto, nearly scaring him out of his own skin. 

Prompto offered a shaky, nervous chuckle, very pointedly choosing not to acknowledge the fact Gladio had chosen to forgone a shirt for the day and casually exiting out of camera roll before Gladio could realize what he'd been looking at. It wasn't Prompto's fault, after all, that the subtle curve of Ignis' jaw as he clenched his teeth before attacking was terribly distracting and now that he'd noticed it, he couldn't not notice it. 

“Waiting for the money shot,” Prompto replied, offering his best grin as he nodded over to the pier, where Noctis was trying his best to catch some weird, legendary fish Navyth had told him about. 

Gladio laughed a choked laugh at that. 

* * *

“Maybe we should get tags,” Prompto mused, wading slowly down the wet, grassy slope that had turned slippery under the rain. 

“Tags?” Noctis asked, looking up at him at the same time he missed his step and slid down the rest of the slope with a slightly high pitched shriek. 

Gladio laughed, even as Ignis made a distressed sound and hurried down after him. 

“Why do we need tags for?” Noctis asked him, dignity slightly bruised even though he stoically ignored it – and the splashes of mud all over his clothes – as they made their way out of the swamp into the thinly wooded edge of the plains. 

To leave something behind, Prompto thought, and realized the thought was entirely too morbid to be spoken outloud. Even if he thought there was something intrinsically appealing, about the idea of someone caring enough to go find something to remember him by, once he was gone. 

“Well,” Prompto said instead, “we're hunters, right?” He shrugged at the startled looks he got, as if no one else had actually thought of that before. He refused to let it distract him, lest he blurted out something unfortunate. “Like, being hunters is our cover, but... we also kind of actually are, by now?” 

“Prompto has a point,” Ignis mused, nodding in approval, even though Prompto blushed and looked away, forever awkward in the face of praise. “It will eventually catch attention, if we continue to avoid the practice.” 

“Okay, fair enough,” Noctis replied, before he frowned, “but _how_ do we get them?” 

“Eh, we could probably just ask Dave,” Gladio pointed out with a shrug. “I mean, he owes us one by now, I'd reckon.” 

“I suppose Dave would be a good place as any to start asking about it,” Ignis nodded, and then blinked when he noticed the look Gladio was giving him. “What?” 

Gladio buried his face in his hands, laughing. 

“Sweet Shiva's tits,” he snorted, “how the hell do you _not_ know? You know _everything!_ ” Gladio shook his head. “Sania was one thing, but Dave?” He waited for a second, expecting a reaction and apparently not getting it, because he made a show to roll his eyes. “Dave _Auburnbrie_? Son of _Ezma Auburnbrie_ , tough as nails Big Boss of all hunters from Meldacio to Galhad?” 

Prompto snatched the picture before he could properly think about it, capturing the precise moment red bloomed across the bridge of Ignis' nose. It earned him a momentary glare as he raised his hands in defeat, before Ignis scowled thunderously at Gladio's obvious amusement. 

“Clearly not _everything_ ,” Ignis hissed irritably, scoffing loudly when Gladio laughed. 

Noctis looked like he wanted to laugh, too, but Ignis looked entirely too terrifying for him to chance it. 

“So Dave can get us tags,” Prompto interrupted, before Gladio could say whatever he was about to say and doomed them all by actually pissing Ignis off. “That's cool!” 

Ignis looked at Prompto for a moment, before he sighed, swallowing back what Prompto could only assumed was a vicious retort. 

“Indeed,” he said, in the tone of someone who's feeling rather put upon, but not enough to actually put a stop to it. “Now let's go find that tag-” 

“Found it!” Noctis announced, showing off his trophy with a grin, as Ignis spluttered. 

Prompto winced sympathetically, more so when Gladio laughed again. Ignis shot him an irritated look, which intensified when Noctis joined him. It was good natured, of course it was, and Prompto knew it, but deep down something inside him twisted, sharp and bitter, because they were _laughing_ at him. He followed closely after Ignis as he rolled his eyes and started stalking back in the general direction of the car, leaving Noctis and Gladio to high five each other over a rare win in a battle of wit against him. 

“You know,” Prompto said, voice small and nervous, “if we take the other way around the lake, I'm pretty sure we'll run into a couple Shildshears there.” He shrugged when Ignis turned to look at him without saying a word. “Y-you know,” Prompto went on, looking away, “for dinner, tonight. They weren't that big, either, so... no lost flavor, right?” 

Ignis stared blankly at him for a moment, but then he frowned. Prompto shrunk a little, as if struck. Ignis kept looking at him, shrewdly, as if he could see right into the inside of his head – which Prompto dearly hoped he couldn't, because... well, because that's where all his stupid, dumb thoughts were stuck, and he would probably die where he stood, out of sheer embarrassment, if Ignis ever saw _that_. 

“Why would you tell me that?” Ignis asked him, eventually, but he switched directions as he went, clearly following Prompto's advice. 

Prompto muttered something, eyes firmly on the ground as he trailed after him. 

“What was that?” 

Prompto felt his face burn. 

“It makes me feel better to eat something I really like, when I'm having a bad day.” He shrugged a bit more forcefully. “Like, I know you don't really have _bad days_ ,” he added, which was a bold-face lie and they both knew it, considering last time Ignis had had a bad day, he'd taken it out on Prompto. “But you looked annoyed, and I know Gladio doesn't mean it, _but you're scary when you're mad._ I took shots of the crabs across the lake, on the way here and then I remembered you said you really liked the little dumplings, so I thought. Hey. Worth a shot, right?” There was a small pause. “I'm sorry, it was dumb.” 

Prompto looked up and barely had time to stop before he walked right into Ignis, standing still in front of him. Without Gladio at his side, Prompto was instantly reminded how tall Ignis really was. It made him think back to the days he'd drive Noctis and him around Insomnia, always a quiet, amused shadow, looking all dark and mysterious and making Prompto's heart skip a beat every time he accepted an invitation from Noctis, to join them in whatever it was they were doing that day. Gladio was big and tall and strong, all three to a ludicrous extent, but up against him, Prompto remembered that _so was Ignis_. 

“It was thoughtful,” Ignis said slowly, carefully, “and it was kind.” His mouth twisted a little, brows dipped into a frown as Prompto flushed helplessly under his gaze. His eyes softened, and his mouth twisted into a small smile as he sighed loudly. “Don't apologize, Prompto, it isn't you who's being a dick right now.” 

Prompto barked a short, sharp cackle, immediately slapping his hands on his mouth. 

“You said _dick_ ,” he whispered in awe, eyes wide. 

Ignis smirked at him, shaking his head. 

“I can say quite a lot more than that,” Ignis replied, and Prompto came upon the terrible realization that he was being teased. By Ignis. He stared. “Alas, we're not here to gauge the depth of my vocabulary, we're here to catch our dinner.” His smile dulled, more like an amused curve of lips, and less like a deadly weapon of mass destruction. “I hope you understand I fully expect you to help me prepare it, as well, since this was your idea.” 

If Ignis had expected Prompto to protest, he was pleasantly surprised instead: he smiled brightly, like _he_ was being offered a gift. 

“Sure!” 

Prompto didn't really notice the look he got for his efforts, thoughtful and considering, but he basked in Ignis' approval all the same. 

* * *

“Three down,” Noctis announced triumphantly as the shield rushed his chest and then joined the crystalline ghosts swirling around him, “ten to go.” 

“What does it feel like?” Prompto asked, head tilted to the side as the light faded and Noctis kept a hand pressed to his chest. “When they go _whoosh_ like that?” 

“Weird,” Noctis admitted, offering a small smile and a shrug to go with it. “Like, _warm_ , but also really weird. Then it's just... it's like they'd always been there.” 

“Magic usually exhausts you,” Ignis pointed out, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Should we call it an early day?” 

“'m good,” Noctis replied, smiling easily. “...though,” he added, smile widening a sliver, “if you insist on it, I'm not going to complain.” 

Ignis frowned, but it was the same frown he reserved specially for Noctis, when he was being cheeky or lazy or anything Ignis disapproved of enough to comment on, but not too much to actually do anything about it. Then Gladio slid up Ignis' side, one arm wrapping easily around his waist. 

Prompto told himself to look away, feeling his mouth dry up and his insides churn at the sight. It wasn't jealousy. He could have dealt with it, if it were. It was the sudden, heart-stopping yearning that made his bones feel like they were bubbling into foam. The desire not only to touch, but be touched and wanted and above all, comfortable about it, the way Ignis and Gladio were. He told himself to look away, but he wasn't strong enough. So he just stared and hoped, against all hope, that no one noticed him staring. 

“Let the King have his day off,” Gladio said, leaning in to press his chin against the crown of Ignis' head, “we've been running around Duscae all month, we could all use a bit of R&R.” 

“C'mon, Specs,” Noctis added, “we could go crash at Wiz's.” 

Prompto realized they were staring at him, waiting for him to add to the plea. He thought it was mostly for show, considering the tilt of Ignis' mouth and the fact he hadn't pushed Gladio away from him. He offered his best bright smile. 

“Baby chocobos, dude,” he said, and pulled his best puppy-dog eyes on Ignis. “Think of the baby chocobos, Ignis!” 

Ignis laughed, leaning back against Gladio's chest, sighing as his shoulders slumped a bit. 

“Clearly,” he said, “I am outmatched.” Prompto felt himself flushing, when Ignis looked up at Gladio for a second and then turned to look at him, in the eye, and smiled. “Baby chocobos it is.” 

* * *


	7. the rock of ravatogh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto gets hurt, but fails to grasp why there's so much fuss about it.

* * *

_vii. the rock of ravatogh_

* * *

“There's definitely not a waterfall here,” Prompto muttered in a surprisingly dry tone, giving Noctis a vaguely judging look, “not unless the waterfall is made of _lava_ and we're expected to _die crossing it_.” 

The Rock of Ravatogh was a hauntingly beautiful landscape, in Prompto's humble opinion, but as with most beautifully haunting landscapes he'd ever seen, that hardly meant he wanted to go explore it from up close. He was pretty sure the soles of his shoes were halfway melted, and though he refused to fuss about it – he was not _dead weight_ – the burns on his ankles were itching enough to threaten his sanity and definitely put a dent on his mood. They had no real reason to be there, either, and they had, in fact, been told by the owner of the original Crow's Nest in Old Lestallum that there was nothing worth looking into, in Ravatogh. Even the Imperials stayed away from it, he'd said. 

So of course Noct decided they should go check it out. If nothing else, he argued, it'd buy them a respite from dealing with dumb MT airstrikes. Prompto was willing to admit those were getting far too frequent and borderline tedious for his tastes – bang, headshot – but that didn't mean he was okay with going off and hanging out in _an active volcano_. 

“Yeah,” Noctis agreed, giving him a side look, just like Gladio had been doing for the past two hours, because apparently it was inconceivable that Prompto would feel a little bit _put out_ by the prospect of _walking into an active volcano_. “But there's gotta be a Tomb somewhere in here.” He shrugged when Prompto merely stared at him a little harder. “C'mon, Prom, you know how this works. Highly dangerous and inaccesible area? Check. Swarming with vicious, feral monsters? Check. Two near death experiences minimum to get through it? Check.” 

Noctis' eyes widened for a second as Prompto summoned his largest caliber gun to hand and seemed to aim at him, but the shot went past him, slicing through the head of a giant killer bee that crashed into the ground with a faint screech, twenty feet behind him. Noctis blinked at it, as if he hadn't even noticed it creeping their way. He probably hadn't. 

“And the bugs,” Prompto said, shuddering as he let his gun fade back into light. “Please don't forget about the creepy, too many legs, too many wings, too many jaws bugs crawling _everywhere_ in here.” 

Noctis blinked. 

“Oh, yeah,” he frowned, “I keep forgetting you don't like bugs.” 

“Can't stand them,” Prompto replied fervently, “they make my skin feel like it's going to crawl away without me.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Noctis nodded sympathetically, “ _icky_.” 

Prompto's nerves were frayed enough at the edges that he felt himself twitch with the urge to tell Noctis that... no, not him too. Not when he kept forgetting about it, and he had no problem fighting them at all, and could Prompto please have _this one fucking thing_ , please and thank you, without someone trying to make light of it? To add insult to injury, he was immediately struck by guilt at the unkind thought. Noctis was his friend, the best friend he had ever and would ever have. It was certainly unfair to be short with him just because he was scared and tired and _itchy_. Noctis was all of those things, only infinitely more because... well, because he was Noctis and he was important and the universe seemed to have a personal vendetta against him. Compared to him, Prompto's feelings were not a big deal, and he was being a child about things. Ignis and Gladio were certainly not complaining, even though they were probably enjoying this little detour as much as he was. 

“This is probably the worst of it, though,” Noctis said confidently, “we're nearly at the top. We'll just take a quick look and then be on our way, right? No big.” 

Prompto almost believed him. 

Almost. 

Then the Zu came home. 

* * *

“Prompto,” Ignis said, later, much later, well after they had finished dinner and were heading back to their rooms – plural, because after that stunt, they had enough gil to splurge a little – looking at him over the rim of his glasses. “If you don't mind, can you stop by our room, before you retire for the night?” 

Prompto blinked at him, and noticed absently that Gladio was frowning at Ignis as well. He shrugged awkwardly. 

“Sure.” 

Which was how he ended up with his pants rolled up to his thighs, his ankles in Ignis' lap, his face in his hands, and Ignis' fingers deftly rubbing salve into the burns, despite his most sincere protests. 

“It doesn't even hurt,” Prompto muttered, pretending very hard his ears were not burning because he'd never seen Ignis' hands without his gloves before and... and well, they felt wonderful, rubbing in the cool salve into his skin. “Really. I used a potion as soon as I noticed.” 

Ignis made a noise of reproach in the back of his throat and paused only long enough to glare at him over the rim of his glasses. It would be fine, really, if only Gladio were not standing off the side, leaning against the wall and peering at Ignis' hands – and Prompto's ankles – with a narrowed-eyed look. Prompto kept thinking this was their room, and he was wasting their precious time together, but he couldn't for the life of him imagine why Ignis would ask him to. 

“What do you mean _as soon as you noticed_?” Gladio growled, brows dipped low into a frown. “Those are second degree, Prom. I'm surprised you can still _walk_.” 

“I'm good,” Prompto insisted, feeling flighty and panicky, and realizing, only after he opened his mouth, that his laughter was too high strung to help convince anyone otherwise. “You don't have to worry about... it?” 

He trailed off uncertainly as Gladio pushed off the wall and reached a hand to poke his ankle, right where the skin was angry and red, already starting to bubble over in blisters. Prompto stared at Gladio, even as Ignis hissed on reflex. Gladio pulled his hand away gingerly, trying not to upset the skin, but Prompto barely felt it. Gladio frowned at him, apparently not sure how to handle the fact his brute force attempt to prove his point had backfired so spectacularly. Prompto swallowed hard. 

“I'm good,” he repeated, and then stuttered somewhat, looking away, “I've always... I've always had a really high pain tolerance.” He offered another high strung laugh, burying his face in his hands. “It's really funny, actually. My appendix ruptured when I was fourteen, and I didn't even notice until I passed out in gym class. I thought I'd eaten bad tacos.” 

Neither Ignis nor Gladio were laughing, Prompto noted, feeling miserable. 

“That's not funny,” Gladio said quietly, and then knelt by the bed, reaching a hand to grab a roll of bandages from Ignis' first aid bag. He clicked his tongue at Ignis, giving him a look, before Ignis sighed and shifted to Prompto's other leg, letting Gladio fuss with the bandages as he began to wrap them carefully over the red skin. “You could have died from that, Prom,” Gladio went on, voice soft and eyes sharp. 

“But I didn't,” Prompto muttered quietly, staring at the ceiling just so he wouldn't have to see the looks on their faces; he was too tired to really want to argue, and he didn't know what the looks meant and they kept giving each other them, and he just wanted to sleep. “I'm okay,” he said, and even to his own ears it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than point out a fact. 

“I know you are,” Gladio said, as he tied up the bandages on his leg and moved onto the other, while Ignis sat up further into the bed, wiping his hands clean of the salve. “You're made of pretty sturdy stuff, but you should probably take it easy for a few days.” 

I'm not dead weight, Prompto wanted to yell at them, and then felt bad for the urge because they were being kind and considerate and he didn't deserve their concern, honestly. 

“Alright,” Prompto sighed as Gladio finished wrapping his other ankle, “I'll try my best.” 

Ignis and Gladio shared another look. 

“Good,” Ignis said, smiling a little as Prompto choked on his breath when Gladio effortlessly pulled him into his arms, standing up like he didn't weigh a thing. 

“Gladio!” Prompto hissed, squirming in the hold; just because he'd always suspected Gladio could do it, didn't mean Prompto was in a hurry to see him carry him around like that. “Put me down!” 

It was a bridal carry, too, Prompto realized awkwardly, face ablaze. One of Gladio's hands hooked on his knees, the other wrapped along his back. It was also not exactly unpleasant, except for the bit where his face was melting off with sheer mortification. 

“No more walking for you,” Gladio announced cheekily, eyebrows wiggling, “Iggy's orders.” 

Prompto buried his face in his hands. 

“Isn't it supposed to be doctor's orders?” He asked, more resigned than anything as his squirming got him nowhere, except pressed up closer against Gladio's chest, which he definitely didn't need. 

“Doctors ain't got shit on Iggy,” Gladio told him with a smirk, which remained on his face until he dropped him in his own bed, much to Noctis' amusement. 

“Do I even want to know?” He asked, rolling onto his side to peer at Prompto and his sincere attempts to smother himself with a pillow. 

“No,” Prompto whined miserably, “no, you don't.” 

Noctis was the _worst_ best friend, because he laughed. 

* * *

“I'm sorry,” Prompto told Ignis a few days later, as their chocobos trotted lightly along a dirt path, “I didn't mean to be dumb and slow us all down.” 

True to his word, Gladio hasn't let him walk for the past four days. Even if he protested and resorted to whining about it. Ignis had said he'd need at least a week off his feet to prevent any lasting damage, and by the Six, Gladio was going to make sure he spent that full week off his feet. Noctis, because he was _the worst_ , took Ignis' side as well, and told on him the moment he saw him trying to do anything beyond going to the bathroom. Prompto had managed to gather enough aplomb to keep his foot down on that one, despite Gladio's apparent willingness to help with that too, because there was only so much he could take before he expired out of sheer embarrassment. After the second day, he'd managed to convince Ignis that riding a chocobo was not too strenous or detrimental to his health, so at least he had that. 

“It's quite alright,” Ignis told him, voice sincere enough Prompto was half convinced Ignis actually believed what he was saying. “Takka's deliveries needed to be made, and we'd put it off long enough already.” 

“I guess,” Prompto muttered quietly. “I just...” 

“Prompto,” Ignis said gently, “you know you can tell me. What's really bothering you?” 

And Prompto knew, he really did. Ignis was kind and thoughtful and he'd never ever judged him for anything he asked or said. Ignis answered him, always, truthfully and sincerely. Ignis didn't hate him, didn't think he was an imposition or a burden, and had always gone out of his way to make sure he knew it. Prompto tightened his grip on the reins. 

“It's stupid,” he said quietly, staring at his hands. “I... I appreciate what you guys are doing. I really do. But's it's... changing plans over this is... it's not _worth_ it.” 

Gladio would have yelled. Noctis would have argued. But Ignis? Ignis made a low humming noise in the back of his throat and rode in silence for a few minutes, considering his words carefully, giving Prompto's words weight and refusing to dismiss them offhand without a second thought. A tiny, angry voice in the back of Prompto's head, which he always made a point to ignore, kind of wished Ignis _would_ dismiss them, because then Prompto wouldn't have to get into uncomfortable conversations about their meaning. Even if it meant the world to him, that he had a chance to have those conversations. 

Prompto despaired a little, at the disastrous mess that was his brain, and sighed. 

“A thought exercise,” Ignis said after a moment, frowning as he kept his eyes straight ahead, “to help me understand, if you please.” 

Prompto shrugged. 

“Sure.” 

“If it were Noct, rather than you, who'd been injured,” Ignis began, lulling his bird into a slower stroll, which Prompto mimicked on reflex. “Would you be upset about us caring for him? If we stopped and waited for him to get back to his feet before continuing on?” 

“Obviously not, _d'uh_ ,” Prompto snorted, shaking his head. “Noct's the King! The entire reason we're on this trip to begin with. What's the point of pushing on if Noct's not around, he's the one that's gotta do... well, the thing, with the tombs and stuff. No one can do that for him.” 

Ignis nodded. 

“And were it Gladio instead?” He asked, eyes briefly sliding to the side, to capture the expression in Prompto's face. 

“Man, we'd be toast without Gladio,” Prompto laughed. “No offense, dude, but I'm pretty sure three quarters of everything we've killed so far was Gladio's doing. And like, he knows _stuff_. Like that time Noct and I went to pick berries and he yelled at us because they were poisonous.” He shook his head fondly. “We wouldn't be able to finish hunts all that quick, either. Like, Noct's getting better at it, but Gladio's part bloodhound, I swear, the way he picks a trail and follows it. Like the coeurls in Secullam! Man, that would have _sucked_ , without Gladio there to make sense of the tracks.” 

Ignis hummed in agreement. 

“Allow me to be vain, then,” he said, half smile tugging at his mouth. “What about myself?” 

“Gladio would be _ecstatic_ ,” Prompto snorted. “We'd be eating cup noodles morning, noon and night.” He grinned as Ignis laughed, basking in the rare sound. “And... like, _you_ know stuff, too. You know where to hit things to take them down faster, and history and geography too. Who's who and where's that, you know? Plus, you're super good at bantering bounties.” 

“So then,” Ignis began, but Prompto laughed, before he could follow with the logical next step. 

He'd been on the receiving end of this conversation before, after all. It was well-meaning, but ultimately misguided. He knew what he was worth, and what he chipped in for the team. He wasn't dead weight, yeah, he worked hard not to be. But he wasn't vital or indispensable. They would survive without him, no sweat. 

“Because I'm just the dude with the camera,” Prompto said, giving Ignis a small, pacifying smile. “I shoot things, sometimes, but there's nothing I do that someone else can't. I'm not _important_ , Ignis.” He shruged in the face of the frown he got for his efforts. “I'm not a little kid either. You don't have to tell me I'm special, just like everyone else. Because the truth is not everyone's special. Some of us are just. You know. Just people. I'm okay with that! I'm honored to be part of Noct's Crownsguard, don't get me wrong. I love being here with you guys. I'll do everything I can, to make sure Noct gets to Altissia. But it's not fair to say I'm the same as you guys. I'm not. It's _okay_.” 

Ignis was silent for a moment, and then he leaned in, grabbed the rains from Prompto's hands and tugged hard enough his bird squawked in protest and nearly ran into Ignis' to keep its balance. Prompto ended up nearly face to face with Ignis, who looked as unruffled as if the little episode had not happened. His eyes, though, Prompto noted, his eyes were _stormy_. 

“It is most certainly _not_ ,” he said, voice sharp. “You have a duty to the Crown, Prompto. A duty uniquely yours, and it pains me that you fail to grasp its importance.” When Prompto stared at him, Ignis arched an eyebrow. “You make Noct happy,” he said simply, eyebrows arched. “Not just him, either. You remind him, and Gladio, and me, every day, of why we're doing what we're doing.” He clicked his tongue, and guided his bird to walk further away from Prompto's, finally giving him some room to breath. “You are right, of course, you're not special. You were not born into this destiny, you _chose_ it. That matters more, to me at least, than all the old bloodlines and prophecies in the world.” He scoffed. “I hope you understand why I do not find your self-deprecation endearing.” 

Prompto scowled. 

“What's so wrong with being realistic?” 

Ignis glared at him. Actually glared at him. Prompto shrunk on reflex and Ignis hissed breath between his teeth. 

“It is _not_ realistic,” he said, and then scowled thunderously. “Forgive me, I fear if we keep on this line of conversation, I will legitimately lose my temper.” 

“I'm sorry,” Prompto muttered, unconsciously trying to make himself smaller. “I won't bring it up again.” 

“I'd rather you did, actually,” Ignis sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Just. Later, perhaps.” 

“But it upset you,” Prompto winced, “why would you want to keep talking about it?” 

“ _Because_ it upsets me,” Ignis retorted, then shrugged. “Gladio is far better at explaining the mechanics of it, than I am. Suffice it to say, this conversation is not over, merely adjourned.” 

Prompto frowned, but sighed in defeat. 

“Alright.” 

He couldn't say he was looking forward to it. 

* * *

“Oh man, that felt _good_.” 

Prompto laughed as his gun vanished into the void, then linked his fingers together and pulled his arms above his head to stretch until his back popped. He noticed the eyes on him and offered his friends two thumbs up. 

“Good to have you back, Prom,” Noctis said, grinning, and reached to high five him. 

“Yeah,” Gladio added, “makes me feel safer, knowing that crossbow's back on expert hands.” 

Prompto blinked as Noctis flushed. 

“It was an accident!” He snapped, glaring as Gladio smirked. “And it was only once!” 

“They were ambushed, on one of Noct's fishing trips,” Ignis told him, looking entirely too amused at the prospect for Prompto's comfort. “It seems Noct tried to use your method of MT clean up.” He coughed as Gladio and Noctis' bickering escalated. “With rather subpar results, I'm told.” 

Prompto snorted. 

“So that's why the poor thing was covered in mud?” He wondered out loud, and then rolled his eyes when Ignis gave him a pointed look. No, Prompto was not picking that conversation back up now, and certainly not with Noct and Gladio around to hear. “Noct, you gotta be nice to the machinery or it won't be nice back. It has feelings!” 

“What he needs is to develop some muscle,” Gladio chimmed in, basking in Noctis' outraged spluttering. “He couldn't even hold the thing steady.” He caught Prompto's eye, mouth tilting into a smile that Prompto refused to acknowledge, lest his face burst into flame. “You're packing quite a bit of heat in those scrawny arms of yours, aren't you, Prom?” 

Prompto laughed awkwardly. 

“It's all about how you brace for it, really,” he said, trying to wave off the compliment. “Practice makes perfect.” 

“I'm cool,” Noctis snorted, “don't really need to practice when we've got you around, right, Prom?” 

“You know it, dude,” Prompto replied, chuckling as he tried very hard to ignore Ignis' gaze on him. “That's what I'm here for.” 

He was procrastinating, of course. Ignis wanted to talk to him and he knew they probably should. It wasn't like Ignis was mean – much, when he wasn't mad. It was just that Prompto really, really hated that type of talk. He much preferred to let things sort themselves out on their own. Usually, he would yield for the sake of avoiding conflict altogether, but there was something fundamentally irritating when the source of conflict was so close to home. And Ignis would know, probably, if he agreed with him just for the sake of agreeing. Prompto wondered if he would be lucky enough to procrastinate all the way to Altissia. 

After all, everything would be better, once they got to Altissia. 


	8. the sword in the waterfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group faces and succeeds in their first real trial. Prompto gets cuddles and a kiss, and doesn't know what the hell to do with either.

* * *

_viii. the sword in the waterfall_

* * *

In the end, it was Sania who had given them a lead to find the waterfall, though it had taken a few extra days to grind up enough money for supplies before Ignis deemed them ready to take on the challenge. 

The waterfall itself was off the beaten path, and after Gladio spent an evening chatting up some hunters in Old Lestallum, they were faced with the very real posibility that there wouldn't be any havens to retreat to, once they set out. It would be their most taxing endeavor yet, as even if they found the waterfall and the tomb in it, it was very likely night would fall before they could make it back to safety. 

Sure, the mad scramble between the first two tombs had been done at night, but, and this Prompto remembered vividly, Cor had been there with them. 

Cor probably didn't even register daemons as a threat, they were so far beneath his level. 

There was a lot of thinking and planning and preparing, before they finally set out to find their goal, and if Gladio and Ignis spent the majority of the week having terse conversations with their eyes, Prompto didn't notice. He didn't. He also didn't notice how their mood seemed to shift abruptly, after a particularly nasty fight with some Mightshears. Then they were back to having incomplete conversations and sharing looks, though there was a wary, defeated air to Ignis that directly contrasted the slight spike to Gladio's smugness. Prompto wondered if Gladio had won their argument, and then wondered if there was even a winner, when a couple fought. 

He told himself he was merely glad they seemed to have worked out their differences, and forced his wandering mind away from the topic altogether, from then on. 

The morning they left, so early there were still a few errant daemons vanishing into the shadows in the distance, Noctis blew the whistle and they waited for their mounts to arrive. Prompto wasn't entirely sure they were ready to face the challenge, but the unspoken truth was that Noctis' headaches were getting steadily worse. No one wanted to think about what it could mean, but after a particularly nasty scare in the middle of fighting off a herd of spiracorns – Noctis just... dropped, mid-warp, and Gladio had barely had enough time to drop his sword and catch him before he hit the ground – there was an uneasy feeling spreading beneath the surface. 

After they dismounted, they had maybe twenty minutes of calm, quiet walking through the thick woods beneath the highway overpass, before they were ambushed. 

“Why did it have to be snakes?” Prompto whimpered in the back of his throat, as the ferocious creature roared at them. 

“Less bitching,” Gladio snapped at his side, face scrunched up in a scowl, “more killing.” 

Prompto sighed but tried his best to find the places where the armored scales were weakest, and chipped at them with his gun, so hopefully Noctis or Gladio could deliver a good hit there. It didn't take too long to take out the snake – the giant toads, by Prompto's own approximation, usually took longer – but time was precious and they couldn't afford to waste sunlight. 

Then there were Shieldshears along the river's edge. Prompto didn't feel too terribly bad about those, because they went down easily, and because he found himself sharing a side-long look with Ignis over it, an inside joke of their very own. 

And then, after hours of wading through slippery rocks and dodging monsters, they found the waterfall. Prompto thought it should have been bigger, considering the trouble it'd cause to find it. Though, he supposed, if it had been bigger, everyone would have known where to find it. 

“The legend says to look behind the waterfall,” Prompto mused out loud, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. 

Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose, and offered Prompto a small smile. 

“What does the waterfall say?” 

“I think it says...” Prompto noticed Gladio looking at him, a tiny frown dipping between his brows, and shrugged. “ _Come in._ ” 

“Well,” Noctis sighed, also staring at Prompto and Ignis a bit suspiciously, before he sighed. “Would be rude not to accept the welcome, right?” 

The welcome was slippery, wet and mossy rocks, but they eventually found a worn down impression of a path curving along the small canyon towards the heart of the waterfall. And sure enough, there was a cave entrance, deeper in. One step in, and they were hit by a wall of cold wind that made their bones creak in protest. 

“This place gives me goosebumps,” Prompto said carefully, “so, double back for our coats?” 

Gladio threw an arm around his shoulders, smirking. 

“What's the point?” He said, and shook his head. “Little chill won't kill ya.” 

Prompto wanted to argue the point, considering he could feel his teeth threatening to clatter, the deeper they went in. 

“Well, looking on the bright side,” he said, licking his lips. “Maybe the cold keeps the daemons at bay?” 

“Yeah,” Gladio snorted, his arm still on Prompto's shoulders. Prompto felt awkward about it, but it was also very, very warm. “Because daemons like _warmth_.” 

“Ah.” Prompto snorted and ducked under and away Gladio's arm, rolling his eyes. “Sarcasm.” 

Gladio laughed quietly, even though Ignis gave him a very pointed, disapproving look. Prompto felt weirdly validated by that, enough to shoot Gladio a little smirk. 

“Hmm, but what if they're frozen?” He said, shaking a finger at Gladio. “Huh?” 

Gladio arched an eyebrow. 

“Encased in ice, huh?” 

Then the floor beneath Noctis' feet erupted into dark goop. He warped back, out of the grasp of some rather handsy flans. 

“And there's our warm welcome,” Prompto muttered dryly, gun falling into his waiting hand. 

Ignis wordlessly dealt with them with one well-placed flare spell, before the battle could really get going. There was a moment of silence as they stared at the scorched empty space the flans had occupied, prior to melting off into wisps of iridiscent dust. Ignis shrugged delicately at the stares he got for his troubles. 

“Time is of the essence, yes?” He said, a touch defensively as Gladio and Noctis released their weapons back into the void. Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose and favored Prompto with a twitch of his lips. “At least the air is warmer, now.” 

“On we go then,” Noctis said after a moment, shaking his head. “Let's get this over with!” 

He took a resolute step forward, heading deeper into the cave, slipped and disappeared into the darkness with a loud yelp. 

“Noct!” Ignis cried out, rushing after him. 

“Oh this just gets better and better,” Gladio muttered with a snort. He slapped Prompto's back, friendly, but still hard enough to make Prompto stumble slightly. “We've done stupider things, right?” 

“Probably,” Prompto sighed, “though not many come to mind.” 

Together, they leaped. 

* * *

There were Arachnes in the caves. And imps. Prompto could deal with the imps, usually a couple headshots was all it took to take them down. But the Arachnes were quite possibly the worst kind of daemon. Ever. They kept _laughing_. And the laughter was doing strange, terrifying things to Prompto's nerves. 

They also kept getting separated from each other, whenever someone stepped on the slide-like slopes of sheer ice that littered the cave every few feet and suddenly plummeted deeper into the maze of ice and rock. 

“Not good to throw daggers in the dark,” Ignis mused absently, brushing bits of frost off his sleeves as the Arachne he'd just stabbed in the face finished melting into the ground. 

Prompto snorted unkindly. 

“Now imagine you were using a gun.” 

Ignis chuckled wryly. 

“Point.” 

Prompto shrugged a little awkwardly and then gave up pretenses and rubbed his arms hard, trying to bring back some feeling into them. He blinked when Ignis casually slipped his coat off and wordlessly offered it to him. 

“I'm good,” Prompto muttered, face flushed. “Little chill, is all.” 

“Prompto.” Ignis arched an eyebrow, lightly shaking the hand holding onto the coat. “If you catch a cold, I will tell Gladio to sit on you until you're better.” 

Prompto barked out a strangled laugh that trailed off into nervous giggling. Then, when Ignis' expression began to darken into severity, he slowly reached out to take the offered garment, as if it were some kind of explosive, dangerous thing rather than just Ignis' well-pressed coat – Prompto wondered about that, sometimes, if Ignis' clothes were magic, because he and Noct had given up on wrinkles a long time ago. 

He regretted it the moment he slid it on his shoulders and found himself surrounded by the smell of Ignis' aftershave. It was nice, warm like a hug and more than that, a hug from _Ignis_. Prompto had only ever imagined what that would feel like, and it was something like this. He willed his face to stop burning and glared pointedly at his shoes. 

“Thanks.” 

“Think nothing of it,” Ignis said briskly, shrugging easily. “Now, let's see what mess Noct and Gladio have managed to get themselves into.” 

* * *

“I'm never eating squid again,” Prompto whimpered miserably, staring down at the puddle of ooze slowly becoming dust at his feet. Mindflayers, Ignis had called them, in the dispassionate voice of one who knew danger but not the way to avoid it.“ _Ever_.” 

“You and me both,” Gladio muttered as he spat on the ground, shuddering thunderously. “Fuck.” 

“Well,” Noctis sighed, shoulders slumped tiredly, as he nodded at the door conspicuously half-hidden behind a corner, “...we found the tomb, at least.” 

Prompto breathed a sigh of relief the moment they stepped into the hallowed chamber, because the air was warm in a comforting, almost benevolent way. Noctis swayed on his feet, as the light faded once he'd claimed the corresponding royal arm, but then set his jaw and shook his head purposefully. 

“Right,” he said, resolute, “I say we leave and never look back.” 

Prompto found himself nodding, because he realized he wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from the grotto, as soon as yesterday if possible. Ignis, however, shook his head. 

“It's hours until dawn, now,” he pointed out, frowning. “We're tired and frankly in no shape to weather daemons, out there.” 

“Can't exactly stay here without becoming popsicles, though,” Noct replied, frowning. “And the place is still crawling with daemons anyway.” 

“But not _here_ ,” Ignis insisted, and then made a sweeping gesture with his arm, motioning for the room they were in. “There is magic here, that keeps the daemons and the chill at bay. I propose we rest here, at least until morning. Whatever daemons we face on the way out, it will certainly be lesser than what we'll face now, making our way out and _then_ trekking back to the nearest haven.” 

Which was nearly two miles away, he didn't need to add. 

Prompto thought rest in a warm, safe place sounded amazing, but he made a point to keep his thoughts to himself, because he'd rather not be accused of whining. Gladio shared a look with Ignis and then shrugged, clearly willing to let Noctis make the choice. Noctis himself frowned for a moment, before he nodded. 

“...you have a point,” he agreed after a moment. 

Ignis smiled. 

“I usually do.” 

* * *

Ignis was mostly right: no daemons approached the tomb, repelled by some invisible force, like the magic runes in a haven. But the reprive from the chill was merely temporary, as the space cooled progressively as time went on. It was still considerably warmer than the caves themselves, but Ignis still took out a flask of fire magic and held it in his hands, slowly but steadily bleeding some warmth out of it. 

“Typical,” Gladio muttered as he shuffled Noctis' sleeping frame until it was craddled in one of his arms, the Prince's snoring face pressed against his side. 

“It's been a long day,” Ignis chidded him, pressed against his other side, eyes closed and his chin hooked casually on Gladio's shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Gladio sighed and shifted against the wall, getting comfortable. He looked at Prompto, huddled against the actual tomb, blowing on his fingers. “Get your ass here already, Prom.” 

Prompto flushed. 

“I-uh. I'm fine!” He stuttered, waving his hands anxiously. 

Ignis opened an eye and gave him A Look. 

“Prompto.” 

Prompto was reminded, despite his best efforts, that he was still wearing Ignis' coat. He shivered violently. 

“Uh.” He wilted a little. “Right.” 

He slowly shuffled closer, and then spluttered when Gladio reached with his free hand and pulled him down sharply, until Prompto's nose was nestled awkwardly against his collarbones. Prompto went deadly still, painfully aware he was essentially sprawled on Gladio's lap and Ignis was _right there_. Gladio let go of his wrist and then shifted to wrap his arm around Ignis' back, who shuffled quietly until he was nearly nose to nose with Prompto and then closed his eyes, going back to concentrating on the magic flask in his hands. 

Prompto felt wondrously, terribly, suffocatingly warm. 

“You smell nice,” Gladio murmured quietly, breath tickling the top of Prompto's head. 

Prompto quietly willed himself to disappear, more so when Ignis hummed low in his throat. 

“Of course he does,” he said, lips barely moving, inches away from Prompto's own, “he smells like me.” 

Prompto swallowed hard, and feared he'd expire of sheer awkwardness, before dawn came. 

* * *

They crashed _hard_ , at the Motel in Old Lestallum. 

Prompto remembered flashes of the trip back, though most of them were about clinging to his chocobo and focusing really hard on not falling off. He didn't remember reaching the outpost or booking the room at all. It had a double bed barely big enough to hold all four at once, but no one had cared when they shuffled into it and finally allowed themselves to sleep. Noctis' headaches were getting worse, and they made him even more sleepy than usual. Given that neither Ignis nor Gladio had actually slept at all during their little adventure, there was no one to force the young King awake for the first fourteen hours after they fell into bed. 

Prompto woke up first, ravenously hungry, and awkwardly stumbled his way into the Crow's Nest without getting himself ran over by traffic, despite the fact he had Ignis' protesting moan playing on repeat in the back of his head. He felt oddly proud of that. He demolished his breakfast – it was technically dinner, but he was too exhausted still, to care – and debated with himself for five minutes before giving up the idea of crashing on the Regalia's backseat. He shuffled his way back into the room and took a moment to appreciate the sight of his friends huddled together for warmth, as if the chill of the grotto still lingered in their bones. 

He decided he was probably the worst person in the entire world, because he crawled right back into the spot he'd woken up in: lodged between Gladio and Ignis, surrounded all around by warmth and a guilty conscience over how much he enjoyed it. Gladio sighed as Prompto settled in, breathing deep and even as he slept. Ignis let out another of those quiet moans that Prompto was never going to forget about, and curled around his back, one arm thrown carelessly across Prompto's side and reaching out onto the hard panes of Gladio's belly. 

Across Gladio's prone form, Noctis snored on defiantly. 

Prompto closed his eyes, called forth sleep and did not cry, even though he really, really wanted to. 

* * *

Eventually, after everyone had slept all they needed to and eaten all they wanted to, Ignis determined they could afford another night in town, to finish recuperating. Noctis had snorted teasingly at that, considering Ignis had very pointedly booked a second room, as far from their current one as humanely possible, but then groaned and rubbed his forehead stubbornly. Gladio had made a show to wink tauntingly at Noctis, once they'd been reassured that the flare of pain had faded. 

Prompto spent most of the day on the Motel's roof, taking shots of the Rock of Ravatogh with varying exposures and filters, and then sank about four hours playing Justice Monsters Five with Noctis, waiting for dinnertime. 

Gladio and Ignis spent the entirety of the day locked up in their room, except for twenty minutes around noon, when they ventured out – Gladio to the small mart by the pump, Ignis to the food cart off the side of the Motel – but then retreated again. Prompto tried his best not to imagine what they did with their time alone, even though his brain was all too happy to offer suggestions. 

Dinner was a livelier affair, as if it only settled in the magnitude of what they'd done and survived. Conversation was light and friendly, with Ignis polishing off some of his best worst deadpan puns and Gladio cracking taunting jokes as follow up. It made Prompto feel like his silence was all the more louder, by comparison, but no one mentioned it and he was grateful for it. 

“Prom?” Prompto looked up to find Gladio standing a few feet away, Ignis at his side. Gladio seemed to take a deep breath, before his smile twitched a little. “Got a minute?” 

Prompto blinked. 

“Sure,” he said, offering a small smile. “What's up?” 

Gladio shrugged, and Ignis sighed loudly. 

“A word in private,” he said, arching an eyebrow at Gladio, which only made him shrug harder the second time. “If you please.” 

“Ah,” Prompto said, licking his lips nervously. “Uh. Okay.” He turned to Noctis, who was frowning suspiciously at the three of them. “I'll be right back.” 

“Sure,” Noctis replied, frowning still. He nodded at Ignis and Gladio. “See you tomorrow, guys.” 

“Night, Noct,” Gladio replied, returning the nod with one of his own. 

“Sleep well,” Ignis added, though his eyes were fixed steadily on Prompto. 

The walk across the parking lot felt eternal and it was made worse by the uneasily, nervous silence between them. Prompto kept stealing glances here and there, trying to figure out the mood. He'd made no real progress in that regard, by the time Ignis opened the door to their room and slid inside. Gladio motioned for Prompto follow in first, and he did so gingerly, not really sure what he expected to find there as he entered, but fairly certain than a pristinely made bed was not it. 

“So,” he said, breaking the silence and trying his best to ignore the weird atmosphere. “What's up?” 

Ignis opened his mouth, standing in the middle of the room with a puzzled frown on his brow, but Gladio beat him to it. 

“Prompto,” he said, voice a lot softer than Prompto had ever heard it. 

Prompto looked up. One of Gladio's hands caught his face, tilting it further up, just as Gladio leaned in and pressed his lips against Prompto's slack, barely parted ones. It was over before Prompto could finish processing what exactly had happened. 

Ignis sighed a long suffering sigh, pulling his glasses off his face so he could rub it with his free hand. 

“Gladio.” 

Gladio shrugged, half smile tugging off his lips. The same lips that had just literally kissed Prompto. 

Yeah. 

“Dare you to get the point across faster,” he said, one eyebrow arched. 

“Um!” Prompto spluttered incoherently, as his brain finally caught on everything and he turned to stare in wide-eyed horror at Ignis. 

Ignis sighed again. 

“Perhaps,” he began, giving Gladio a reproachful look, “we should start from the beginning.” 

Prompto whimpered quietly, and wondered when the hell he was going to wake up. 

* * *


	9. the way of gods and kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Gladio make an offer. Prompto freaks the fuck out, a little. Noctis sleeps and dreams of Gods.

* * *

_ix. the way of gods and kings_

* * *

Prompto sat, after a moment of hesitation, on the small, plastic chair in the corner, while Gladio sat crosslegged on the bed and Ignis remained standing. He licked his lips nervously, imagining he could still taste Gladio on them, and fidgeted with his wristband as he tried to put his thoughts in order. Gladio and Ignis seemed willing to let him take all the time he needed, waiting patiently as they studied him carefully. 

“So you're together,” he tried, once the silence had grown monstrously large, like a fourth presence in the room. “But not always?” 

“Not quite.” Gladio shook his head, in the same breath Ignis bit out, perhaps a bit more forceful than intended: “We're _always_ together.” 

Prompto winced slightly and Gladio laughed awkwardly, before throwing Ignis a pointed look. 

“We're always together,” Gladio said, echoing Ignis' words with a soft smile that Prompto was pretty sure was instinctual, rather than conscious. “It's just we're sometimes together with other people too.” 

“Like, at the same time?” Prompto blurted out, and then winced, feeling his face burn. “I-I mean...” 

“Sometimes,” Ignis replied, matter-of-fact. “Though we rarely agree on what we find attractive or engaging.” He shrugged again, a bit less stilted than before. “I don't share Gladio's fondness for the fairer sex, for instance.” 

Gladio snorted, in a tone that implied there was a story there, but not one Prompto was privy to. Despite all the things he was apparently now privy to. Prompto focused on that, rather than the blunt – for Ignis, anyway – implication that they found him attractive or engaging. Or even more terrifying, both. 

He was still halfway convinced he was about to wake up in his bed, with a weirded out Noctis politely trying to pretend nothing was going on, after all. 

“It's like...” Gladio began, fumbling for words with a frown. “It's just different, the way you connect to each person you meet, right? Just because you get along with two people, doesn't mean you get along with them the exact same way. It's like that, only. Dating and stuff.” 

“I prefer the dating, myself,” Ignis admitted after a moment, then smirked tauntingly. “He mostly goes for _stuff_.” 

Prompto expected Gladio to glare and huff, like he often did whenever Ignis made a comment more on the side of vicious than purely teasing. But as meanspirited as the jab seemed, to Prompto, it made Gladio laugh. 

“I like having sex,” he said, like one would say, _I rather fancy cheesecake for dessert_. Prompto made an awkward, borderline panicked sound in the back of his throat. “Mess and all. It's fun.” He nodded over at Ignis, who shrugged back, arms folded casually over his chest. “Iggy likes to get invested, first.” 

Ignis shrugged, again. Prompto noticed, because Ignis rarely did so; it was more a gesture he'd associate with Gladio, if anything. Prompto wondered idly if that meant Ignis was nervous. It'd be a welcome, if unnerving change of pace, if that was the case. Ignis was never nervous about anything, but Prompto would feel better, knowing he wasn't the only one feeling out of his depth entirely. 

“And that's... you're okay with that?” Prompto asked, less tactless than before, even as he caught the inside of his lower lip between his teeth. 

Because it... it sounded wonderful and terrifying all at once, like maybe he wasn't broken somehow, awkward and greedy and _wrong_. He felt stupid for asking, but wanted his answer all the same. He had been told, all his life, that such feelings were a matter of two, and anything else was desperation or worse. All he knew on the matter, came from others, who neither knew him nor cared for him, in the stories he read and the movies he watched, and deep down the sense of unease had crystalized, at some point, into a certainty that there must by reason be something deeply wrong with him. He could – and had – changed the way he looked and acted and even thought, in places – bang, headshot – but he could not change the way he felt. 

Prompto had always been aware of himself, in reference to others, keen on the differences, rather than the similarities. 

He was different, he'd always known. In school he learned what parents were meant to be like, to their children, but his were different. He learned what it meant to have friends and be part of a group, but he was different. He learned about love and dating and marriage, and yeah, sex too, for all it had nothing to do with birds, bees or tadpoles. 

But he was _different_. 

The most terrifying thing, Prompto realized, suddenly feeling like he was standing outside the room, watching in, like a diorama in a museum, was the sickly, needy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The sudden, feverish hope, that maybe for once he wasn't as different as he thought. He felt himself sway in place, and tasted blood on his tongue as he realized belatedly, he'd bitten too hard into his lip. 

“It works,” Gladio replied, frowning slightly. “For us, anyway.” 

“Sometimes it doesn't,” Ignis admitted, after a small pause. He shared a look with Gladio, one of those that always made Prompto squirm and wonder and _want_. “Then we just talk until it does.” 

Prompto thought of all those weeks of looks and quiet talks, just barely out of earshot. The glares and the smirks and the teasing, taunting familiarity that took the edge off even the worst of Ignis' repertoire. He wondered if they talked about him: what they said, if they argued. The question stilled and sank into the bottom of his gut, refusing to bubble back up to his throat to be asked. He gave up pretenses and folded up his legs, feet tucked up at the edge of the chair and chin resting on his knees. 

“And you want...” he began, and then stopped, despite it all – the taste of Gladio's mouth and the weight of Ignis' eyes – he was not sure what to expect. 

He wasn't bold enough to even suggest outright that they wanted _him_ , with all the misshapen, bent bits that were too different to really fit in anywhere. 

“We've never had a steady third before, as it is,” Ignis said, leaning on the small table that served both as a dresser and a TV stand. 

“We've had a few,” Gladio corrected, smiling wryly at Prompto, “they just... never lasted more than a few weeks.” 

“Which would make them not steady, yes,” Ignis retorted, snorting as he carefully pushed his glasses up his nose. “It's, nonetheless, something we've... discussed.” He shrugged slowly, purposefully, and then looked away. “Gladio is quite certain you'd be amenable to try, nonetheless.” 

“I hope you are,” Gladio laughed, but there was an unsure tint to it, a nervousness that echoed Prompto's in a way he'd never thought possible, because Gladio was larger than life, always. Gladio licked his lips, eyes dropping to the run-down carpet instead. “Anyway.” 

He was. 

Astrals help him, he _was_. 

He could think of nothing he wanted more, in that moment. Prompto was not stupid, not always. He heard what was being offered, and his entire being ached at the thought, because they wanted him _steady_ , not just one off, to scratch an itch or sate a question. But he'd made it a habit, being different, of wanting precisely what he knew he'd never have. It was second nature, by then, the careful,surgical way he detached himself from those wants, almost as soon as he became aware of them. Nice things, gentle things, the kind of things that glittered and glowed; they were never meant for him. He was different, so of course he knew. He'd spent too long crying and drowning in want for them, without anyone to tell him to stop or explain why, that he'd eventually figured it out on his own. He wasn't stupid, not always. He understood cause and effect, well enough, and he knew how to recognize the inevitable, once he stopped trying to fight it. It was purely habit, then, that had him sucking in a breath, stepping on the writhing mess of thoughts and feelings boiling under his skin. 

But, he found himself struggling to backtrack from that well-worn path inside his thoughts, he hadn't asked for it, this time around. He never asked for anything anymore, not comfortable to gamble on finding out whether he was allowed to have what he asked for or not. He hadn't asked, he reminded himself, all the more scared by the enormity of that truth, _they_ had. Were. 

Prompto tried to open his mouth and found it dry all the way down to his throat. 

“You don't have to answer right now,” Ignis said suddenly, as if he could not bear the silence any longer. He swallowed hard. “You don't have to answer at all, really. This is... we talked about it, and figured you ought to know. That's all.” 

Gladio laughed again, warily. 

“We'll just...” he added, nodding, “pretend it never happened, if it's too much. So don't... don't sweat about it, yeah?” 

Prompto thought he'd rather sweat about it, a lot. Sweat and swear and scream a little, just for spice. He found his voice, at long last, small and tentative, venturing out into the strange, half-dream he seemed to be existing on, at the moment. 

“I've... got a lot to think about,” he said eventually, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the bloodied gash inside his lip, distracted by the little flares of pain with every lick. “It's just... a lot, to take in. Not bad!” He added, voice just a sliver too shrill for his tastes. “Not bad.” He swallowed thickly. “Just. A lot.” 

“We're not going anywhere,” Gladio tried to joke, though it fell a little flat, because that was the crux of the problem: they were already bound together, the three of them, with Noctis anchoring them in place even if the world kept stubbornly spiraling out of control. Despite that, Gladio smiled a softer smile than Prompto was used seeing in his face, and it made his entire being hurt all the way down to his bones. “So. Yeah. Take all the time you need.” 

Prompto tried his best to smile back, though his efforst were shaky at best. 

“We should let you sleep,” Ignis murmured after a moment, not quite looking at Prompto in the eye. “We've... certianly taken more than enough of your time.” He cleared his throat. “And tomorrow will be an early start.” 

“Noct's not gonna like that,” Prompto pointed out, desperate for anything that wasn't raw and scary and too much to contemplate, at once. 

“Noct will probably not be awake for most of it,” Ignis snorted, rolling his eyes fondly. “Nor he'll need be, really.” 

“Right,” Prompto nodded, and stayed where he was, curled up in a crappy chair inside a crappy room in a crappy Motel, with all he knew about the world crumbling to bits all around him. “I should go, yeah.” 

He didn't run. It was a near thing, but he didn't run. He left Gladio and Ignis inside the room, with their looks and their wanting and all the things he was too scared to contemplate partaking of. 

By comparison, Noctis' oblivious snoring was like a balm for his sore nerves. Prompto rationalized that Noctis was sleeping enough for the both of them, anyway, and instead spent the night having the longest, most slow-motion freak out in the history of his – admittedly full of varied and unique freak outs – life. 

* * *

The ride to Lestallum felt eternal, and Noctis spent most of it curled up against his corner of the backseat, sleeping. Prompto sat in his usual place at Ignis' right, trying his best not to vibrate in place, hyper aware of Ignis and Gladio next and behind him, respectively. 

Somewhere around noon, he couldn't take it anymore. He glanced at the rearview mirror, squinting to make sure Noctis was still out for the count. He was. Prompto swallowed hard and carefully stared at the scenery in the distance. 

“Are there rules?” 

Ignis took a sharp breath, not quite a gasp so much as the impression of it. Gladio shifted in the backseat, and Prompto saw him carefully put his book away. 

“A few,” Gladio replied in a low voice that made Prompto's gut churn, leaning forward. “Most of them boil down to not being a dick.” 

“Mostly safety and consideration,” Ignis elaborated, with a small roll of his eyes aimed at Gladio when he snorted. Then he frowned a bit. “Prompto.” 

Prompto realized he was mid-way through curling himself up in his seat, and laughed. 

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.” He shrugged, shifting in place, looking down at his feet as he sat back properly. “Safety first.” 

Gladio, who clearly had missed the exchange between them and didn't realize Prompto's reply had nothing to do with the actual conversation at hand, snorted. 

“Well, yeah,” he said, leaning over Prompto's shoulder to given him a dubious look. “You don't want a rash where the sun don't shine.” 

Prompto spluttered, face blooming into bright red. Doubly so at the sharp bark of laughter that escaped Ignis, before he composed himself and scowled at Gladio over the rearview mirror. 

“Quite,” he deadpanned, but the effect was not quite the same, considering he'd laughed before he moved onto scolding. 

Gladio shrugged. 

“You've dated before,” he pointed out, matter-of-fact. “It's like that only... wider. Talking out stuff usually helps.” 

Prompto thought about his grand list of romantic milestones and winced. 

“I don't really date,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, rather the frown on Gladio's face or whatever terrifying expression settled on Ignis' face. “Most of the people who wanted to date me, back home, they kinda just wanted to date the Prince's best friend, so. I'm not... it's not a good comparison, I think.” 

Most was a lie, and he knew it. The truth was _all_ of them, and each of them had hurt like a hot knife when he'd realized it. He'd never told anyone that before, not even Noctis. Never Noctis, of course. Prompto knew his friend would feel devastated and guilty about the whole thing, even if it wasn't his fault. He felt his gut churn again, awkward, but he didn't take back the words. They kept insisting that talking was important, but Prompto had always felt talking – really talking about stuff, not just brushing it off with a well placed joke – was not one of his best strengths. 

He wanted to try, anyway, even if the thought unnerved him. _He wanted to try_. 

Ignis made a low, irritated sound in the back of his throat, hands clenched tightly around the wheel. 

“Shit, Prom,” Gladio growled, scowling. 

Prompto shrugged and refused to look at either of them. 

“It's okay,” he said, forcing a chuckle into his voice. “Just. Putting it out there, that I don't really know what I'm doing.” 

Prompto took in a sharp breath, when Ignis took one hand off the wheel and placed on his wrist. 

“If it's any consolation,” he said, just as Gladio leaned in to hook his chin on Prompto's seat, one hand reaching out to hold his shoulder. “Most of the time, neither do we.” 

Prompto didn't quite believe it, but he wanted to. The rest of the drive, all eight hours of them, were quiet. They moved on to talk about Noctis and his headaches and the strange visions that came with them. They talked about their trip and what they'd do, once they got back to Lestallum. Their hands stayed, though, almost casual if not for the bit where Prompto couldn't really forget about them, and he thought that maybe he wasn't as hopeless at the whole awkward talk thing, as he'd feared. 

* * *

Talcott was ecstatic when they told him the legend had been true, and upon learning about Noctis' headaches, he'd solemnly sworn to look into it. Gladio stayed with Noctis, watching their King sleep and teasing him a little, whenever he was awake. Prompto went with Ignis to the market, to replenish their stores and gather information, chatting up the locals. Since they'd gone out of their way to help restablish the supply lines of a couple of the largest vendors, they were received quite warmly and their questions – well, Ignis', really – were answered dutifully. 

“So,” Prompto began, as they took a break and bought some nice, cold drinks in a stand by the edge of the market. “We're going to the Disc? Where the meteor is?” 

Ignis shrugged. 

“It's the only thing that comes to mind,” he explained, running his fingers down the length of his glass, gathering the condensation there, “from what Noct saw.” He sighed. “We'll probably need to take on a couple hunts, before we head out. The little misadventure in the grotto nearly bled us dry.” 

Prompto chuckled. 

“More like froze us to the bone,” he said, shaking his head. “But, yeah.” 

Ignis hummed, thoughtful. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, before he looked at Prompto right in the eye. 

“I realize we might not have chosen the best moment,” he said, “for springing this... particular mess on you. I apologize for that.” 

Prompto licked his lips and dropped his eyes on the table. 

“I... it's okay. Really,” he insisted, looking up briefly to try and gauge Ignis' reaction. “I just.” He laughed awkwardly. “I'm just. Trying to wrap my head around it.” 

“The mechanics of it can be a little daunting on occasion, yes,” Ignis murmured, nodding. 

Prompto hummed, gathering aplomb. He was not going to be able to procastinate on this anymore, he realized. 

“I just,” he said, shrinking in his seat. “You know.” But he supposed Ignis didn't, which was the point of trying to talk about it in the first place. He swallowed hard. “I'm a little... more than a little... flattered. I want to, to _try_. I do.” Ignis breathed deeply, like a gasp in stages. Prompto licked his lips. “Just. I don't know what's in it for you, guys.” 

He winced as he dared look up and found Ignis' eyes gone stormy again, but then he was reaching out with his hands, tilting Prompto's face up, and Prompto forgot to breathe entirely, as he realized what was happening. 

It was different, kissing Ignis, than it had been to kiss Gladio. Gladio had caught him by surprise, a fleeting, deceptively simple gesture that had opened up the whole can of worms right in Prompto's face. Ignis kissed him slowly, purposefully, and as Prompto's thoughts ran into each other inside his head, he found himself with enough time to react and very tentatively kiss back. One of Ignis' hands curled on the back of his neck, not holding him in place but. Nice. 

The fact they were in the middle of the market, out there right in the open, did strange things to Prompto's gut. Like it was the most normal thing in the world, Ignis kissing him, like there was nothing wrong with it. 

“There's that,” Ignis whispered, as they pulled apart, his face still close enough their noses were almost touching. His voice was low and a little rough around the edges, and Prompto felt his entire body tingle in response. “For starters.” He licked his lips, then, and from up close Prompto found himself fascinated by the sight of his tongue peeking between his teeth. “Gladio would have more choice words, I'm sure.” Prompto laughed, giddy and awkward, his entire face flushed. “We should head back,” Ignis added, seating back and tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt. “Discuss this in private, then.” 

* * *

In the end, that discussion – whatever that would have entitled, considering the way Gladio looked at them, that made Prompto certain he _knew_ – did not happen. Noctis was awake, when they got back, still enduring a particularly brutal headache, but his jaw was set in the same determined way it was, right before a battle. 

Prompto regreted his suggestion, to check out the Disc from the lookout, once the topic came up, because that creepy, smiling man from Galdin was back, offering strange riddles and his particular brand of help. 

Gladio dropped a hand on his shoulder, as they walked back to the Regalia, squeezing it lightly as they shuffled into the car. 

“As satisfying as it would be,” Ignis told Noctis, his own hand brushing against one of Prompto's briefly, before he walked around to Noctis' usual seat, “do try not to ram into him, Noct. Cid's wrath over the scratched paint would not be worth it.” 

“Yeah,” Noctis snorted, scowling. “I guess.” 

The pink convertible drove off into the main road, and they followed a moment later. Prompto hoped it'd be a short trip. Just enough take a look at the Archaean and maybe put a stop to Noctis' headaches, then come back. That was all. 

The sinking feeling in his gut, however, did not quite agree. 

* * *


	10. the trial of titan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, on the upside, fighting a literal God does help put a lot of things into perspective.

* * *

_x. the trial of titan_

* * *

Prompto noticed that as soon as they began traveling with Ardyn, Noctis' headaches seemed to lessen significantly. He was sure he wasn't the only one who noticed, because Noctis was now _talking_ , mostly about how much Ardyn was annoying him, with his little scenic route to the Disc, and asking questions, to Ignis about lore regarding the Archaean and to Gladio about the possibility they could murder Ardyn and hide the body. Prompto thought he was mostly joking, but Gladio had taken it seriously. 

“Killing monsters and daemons is one thing,” he echoed from the backseat of the Regalia, trying to catch Noctis' eye in the rearview mirror. “But you don't want to be the kind of King who murders nilly willy, any dumb fuck that annoys you.” Prompto saw Noctis tighten his grip on the steering wheel, jaw clenching on reflex. “Think enough people died, in Insomnia, already. You don't exactly have a lot of Lucians to spare right now.” 

“I know,” Noctis snorted, annoyed. “It was a joke, jeez.” 

“To be fair,” Ignis interjected, placatingly, “we don't know for certain he's a crown citizen, you said so yourself, Gladio.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and turned his face to Noctis. “Though Gladio has a point: despite his... unpleasant demeanor, he hasn't outright done anything to merit capital punishment.” He paused for a moment, and shrugged. “Yet.” 

“A _joke_ ,” Noctis insisted, then turned to look at Prompto, “you get it, don't you, Prom?” He smiled at him, teasing, before he returned his gaze to the road. “Tell me at least _someone_ in my Crownsguard knows how to take a joke.” 

Prompto laughed awkwardly, shrugging. 

“Maybe, you know, not joke about killing people?” He offered, wincing as Noctis snorted. “Like, it's a joke, but it's no joke that we _could_." Bang, headshot. “So... maybe, don't?” 

“ _Fine_ ,” Noctis replied, rolling his eyes. Then he sighed. “I suppose... it wasn't in the best of taste.” 

“It's okay, Noct,” Gladio said, lips pulled into a small smirk, _“none_ of your jokes have ever been even approaching any kind of taste.” 

“You think _puns_ are funny,” Noctis deadpanned, glaring at him through the rear-view mirror. 

“ _My_ puns are hilarious,” Ignis said, sniffing disdainfully, as he slid until he was leaning against Gladio's side, Gladio's arm curled around his shoulders. “Thank you very much.” 

Noctis looked to Prompto, as if waiting for his input. Prompto shrugged a little helplessly. 

“They're kinda funny,” he admitted, shrinking a bit in his seat, “I mean, when we're not in the middle of dying, at least.” 

Noctis sighed loudly. 

“ _Whatever_ ,” he said, and then reached down to turn on the music loud enough to drown out conversation. 

* * *

The general consensus, about Noctis' reaction to Ardyn's solicitous help, had changed considerably after dinner. Noctis felt validated about that, a little bit, because it wasn't like he'd ever joke about killing someone who didn't deserve it. He wasn't smug about it for long, though, after he was done glaring murder at Ardyn over Prompto's barely-contained, panicked reaction to the sudden touch. Mostly because he recognized the set of Gladio's jaw as a prelude for an absurd amount of violence, and because Ignis was glaring at Ardyn frostily enough, he halfway expected the creepily cheery man to freeze over at some point. 

Prompto realized, once Ardyn had walked away – he swung as he walked, Prompto'd noticed, like a ship at sea, each step slow and purposeful – that Noctis was frowning at him. At all three of them, in fact. Prompto fancied he knew Noctis' little tells in his expression better than most people – except maybe Ignis – so the frown didn't immediately worry him. It was a thoughtful look, like he was contemplating a puzzle and trying to determine if he had all the pieces at hand to solve it. 

Then Prompto realized that puzzle might well be the fact Ignis and Gladio had asked him out – and he still hadn't been able to answer properly, to both – and he felt his face pale before it flushed. 

Noctis' eyes narrowed, clearly not missing the reaction. 

It didn't help he immediately turned his glare to Gladio. 

Prompto spent the rest of the evening trying to take his mind off that track, playing games and changing the topic whenever Noctis' barbs started to get Gladio frowning. The last thing they needed was to fight amongst themselves, but Noctis seemed on edge and Gladio, in Prompto's experience, always gave back as good as he got. Ignis seemed to notice the tension as well, lips pressed tight into a little line every time Noctis and Gladio's banter turned sharp, and shared a look and a small shrug with Prompto, as he joined him in his overt peacekeeping efforts. 

The end result was no one was exactly well-rest and ready, for another day driving after Ardyn, and certainly not quite prepared for what awaited them when they arrived. 

* * *

“So you know, it's hot where we're going,” Ignis told Prompto, as they turned on the road down to the Disc, some time around noon. “Will the camera fare alright?” 

The fact he'd prevented Gladio from making a retort to Noctis was appreciated, as was his concern. Prompto shrugged. 

“As long as I avoid open flames,” he replied, “it should be okay.” He paused, frowning. “I think.” 

“We don't have a spare if it breaks,” Gladio pointed out, voice immediately softer than it'd been five minutes ago, when he was chewing on Noctis not to swerve too hard down the curves in the road. 

“Leave it in the car?” Noctis suggested, frowning because he wasn't stupid, he could tell he was being derailed again, but also not about to take it out on Prompto. 

“Oh, no,” Prompto said with a smile, looking around the car. “I'm taking it. Not every day you get up close and personal with the Archaean, right? I'd kick myself if I missed the photo op.” 

Ignis smiled back at him, nodding his approval. Gladio chuckled, warm and fond. 

“Spoken like a true photographer,” he said, and Prompto shrugged, tingling under the praise. 

He didn't notice Noctis was looking at him again, pointedly. 

“As they say,” Prompto chuckled awkwardly, “Better to try and fail than never to try at all.” 

He licked his lips nervously as he realized what he'd said, and what it could be taken to mean. He glanced at the rear-view mirror for a moment, trying to gauge the looks on Ignis and Gladio's faces, before he ducked his head and shuffled in his seat. 

Noctis snorted, one eyebrow arched curiously. 

“Look at you.” 

Prompto sank further into the seat, feeling his face burn. 

“Well, _they_ say that,” he amended, swallowing hard. “Not me.” 

Noctis didn't miss the way Ignis' lips thinned or Gladio's eyes darkened, at that. 

Huh. 

“Well,” he offered, frowning with a shrug of his own, “you just do what you gotta.” 

The silence lingered, tense and expectant, until Prompto couldn't take it anymore, and he turned around his seat, looking over at Ignis. 

“Hey, Iggy,” he said, and missed entirely the way Noctis' eyes widened at the pet name. “Can your glasses take the heat?” 

Ignis seemed to have noticed the same thing, smile a sliver wider in response. Gladio's arm around his shoulders curled a little more, pulling him up against his side. 

“Well, I don't see why they shouldn't.” 

Prompto nodded, and sat back straight after another little smile. 

“Even if they couldn't,” Noctis found himself saying, fumbling for something to reply with, “he'd still be alright.” 

Prompto blinked at him, and then at Gladio as he chuckled, shuffling in the backseat so Ignis was unmistakably cuddling up his side. 

“Yeah,” Gladio pointed out, smiling fondly as Ignis looked away, mock-exasperated by the manhandling. “Iggy's eyes ain't that bad.” 

“Oh,” Prompto said, blinking. “Really?” 

Ignis shrugged, and kept his eyes on the distance. 

“My vision is passable,” he admitted, as if it were some awkward little secret, “without corrective lenses.” 

Prompto considered his options, and then swallowed hard. 

“Then why not take 'em off, sometimes?” 

“Well...” Ignis began, and then trailed off, shrugging further into Gladio's side. 

Noctis snorted. 

“You don't get it, huh?” He pointed out, shaking his head at Prompto. 

He sounded amused, though, rather than mocking. It occurred to Prompto that the joke, as it were, was not at his expense. Going by the faint frown in Ignis' face, it was at his. 

“Ignis likes his world to be crystal clear,” Gladio said fondly, smirking when Ignis glared at him warningly. 

Ignis sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shifted again, until his back was leaning against Gladio's side and his legs were crossed, feet tucked beneath Noctis' seat. 

“Indeed,” he said, and gave Prompto a pointed look. “I've never been one for ambiguity.” 

Prompto felt his face burn again, doubly so when he realized Gladio was looking at him with a smirk. Yeah, he supposed all that talking they did, it didn't leave many things up to chance. Prompto felt his stomach twist about in nervous knots even as he nodded. 

“Ah,” he said, licking his lips and not missing the two pairs of eyes on his tongue, as he did. The realization made his skin break out in goosebumps. “I think I'm... getting the picture now.” 

He realized Noctis had that funny, not quite shocked look on his face again. He clearly wasn't getting any picture, clear or not. At least not one that made much sense, Prompto hoped. Then Prompto took a deep breath and shifted the conversation to Noctis' driving, which instantly took his mind off whatever weird stuff was going on with his friends, so he could defend his honor. 

Prompto regretted the choice of topic only because it gave Gladio an excuse to taunt Noctis again, and so it was back to awkward peacekeeping again. But at least, he consoled himself as Ignis did his best to keep things from escalating, Noctis wasn't staring anymore and looking like he was about to say something about... them. 

That was good, right? 

* * *

“That's... the Archaean,” Prompto said, tonelessly, as he and Ignis found a slightly gentler slope towards the center of the crater. 

It had an amazing view of the giant in the center, holding up a ball of spiked rocks on his back and doing his best to try to punch Noctis and Gladio into a very fine paste. 

“Yes,” Ignis replied, pushing the glasses up his nose as he walked briskly to the edge. 

“Ignis,” Prompto tried again, not quite sure his point had been made. “That's a _God_.” 

“Yes,” Ignis repeated. 

“Oh,” Prompto replied, shuddering. “Okay.” He slapped his face with his hand, as if to wake himself up. “Right, just making sure. You know. That we're fighting Gods now.” 

Ignis offered a very eloquent shrug. 

“Seems to be the case, yes,” he said, voice dry. He frowned. “Ah,” he added, nodding his head sharply and Prompto looked back to see Imperial ships approaching. “That's familiar at least.” 

“Yay,” Prompto muttered unenthusiastically, crackling his knuckles. 

“Not exactly an ideal improvement, I'll grant you,” Ignis told him, as the first MTs began to land in formation nearby. “But it's something.” 

Prompto focused on mowing down the opposition, rather than attempting to answer, because the only other option at his disposal was to panic and have a fantastical meltdown at the sudden turn of events. 

* * *

The flight out of the Disc was mercifully short, for all it was tense and borderline homicidal. 

Prompto spent most of it standing by Noctis' right, trying and failing to come up with a conversation thread ridiculous enough to take his friend's mind off everything that had happened, while Gladio and Ignis stood like a wall between them and the Chancellor's unnerving smile. 

They were dropped off near a heaven in the marsh, with little fanfare beyond the Chancellor's sweeping, mocking bow. 

They were silent for a moment, standing at the edge of the haven, watching the ship disappear into the distance. It was too close to dusk, to think about moving elsewhere for the night. 

“So,” Prompto asked, “...what now? All the gear was in the Regalia, and the Chancellor was not kind enough to bring her along too.” 

“Not _all_ of it,” Gladio sighed, shoulders dropping a bit. “It's gonna be a tight fit until we get the car back, though.” He nodded at Noctis, and smirked. “Kinda glad, aren't you, that I desecrated your holy magic with my Coleman chairs, huh?” 

Ignis and Prompto tensed, expecting an outburst. Gladio and Noctis had been chaffing at the sides since they left Lestallum, after all. And it was late, they were tired and worn, and they had somehow managed to punch a God hard enough to shatter his arm. The last thing any of them needed was Noctis and Gladio getting into a spat. 

Noctis laughed, instead, a bit too shrill around the edges, but laughter nonetheless. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “I know, I'd be in deep shit without you.” He shoved at Gladio's shoulder, a sliver more affectionate than playful, “get over yourself, you smug bastard.” 

Ignis and Prompto blinked, more so when Gladio laughed back, throwing an arm around Noctis' shoulder and then grinned as he effortlessly swept him off his feet. Noctis made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, flailing and squirming out of the hold as Gladio carried him up towards the fire pit at the center of the haven. Prompto winced sympathetically, well aware there wasn't really a way to get out of Gladio's arms, and then startled as he heard Ignis chuckle under his breath. 

“I'd reckon they've settled their differences. For now,” Ignis pointed out, smiling a sliver at Prompto's surprised face. “They really are too alike for it to be comfortable all the time.” He sighed, as if the whole thing was cyclical and to be expected. From Prompto's experience being Noctis' sounding board, it had always seemed more like Gladio sometimes went overboard, but after all their time together, he was starting to see Ignis' point, and realized it was more of a two-way street than Noctis usually admitted. “One can only hope the next such outburst is better timed... or does not require divine intervention to be resolved.” 

“I know talking is important,” Prompto replied, wincing as the bickering became more pronounced when Noctis summoned a small set of supplies out of the same void where all their weapons seemed to come from. He looked up at Ignis, eyes wide. “But I kinda hope you guys don't expect me to talk about stuff while we're almost not quite dying. Because I'm really not good at multitasking.” 

Ignis smiled, eyes gone soft behind his glasses. 

“I'm sure we can figure something out.” 

* * *

Gladio hadn't been kidding about tight fits, considering the spare tent was much smaller than they were used to. But they were tired and despite the fact they were all packed pretty close together, sleep came in easily. Come morning, Prompto woke up with his face tucked under Ignis' chin, whole body curled up against his. All of it. Prompto stayed still for long enough to realize only Noctis was still breathing deeply, somewhere behind him, curled under a pile of blankets in the opposite corner of the tent. He swallowed hard and looked up cautiously, not exactly surprised to find Ignis staring down at him, expression unreadable. Gladio's face, by contrast, was easy to read, since Prompto knew very well what the taller man looked like, when he was amused. 

“Any, eh,” Prompto began, clearing his throat awkwardly, as he remained exactly where he was. “Any plans for today?” 

“Several,” Ignis said, in a tone that left Prompto no doubt that those plans would inevitably become reality. “But none that require attention, at the moment.” 

“Maybe we should go out,” Prompto said, only belatedly realizing what that sounded like, as his entire face burned. “I mean. Outside. To... to talk. And stuff.” 

Because to be perfectly honest, there was something dismal about Noctis snoring under his blankets in the background, and the near paranoid fear Prompto was fighting, that he'd wake up in the middle of... well. Things. 

“Well,” Gladio rumbled, voice low and eyes glinting in amusement, “I am the guy who likes _stuff_.” 

Prompto slapped a hand on his mouth, trying to choke back the shrill cackle clawing up his throat. Ignis rolled his eyes. 

“Must you?” But he sounded amused, rather than annoyed. 

Prompto would know, he practically breathed the words into his face. 

“No,” Gladio retorted, grinning, “but I wanna.” 

Noctis chose that moment to roll around, shuffling under the covers as he snored loudly. 

“Okay, yes,” Gladio snorted, after the prerequisite minute of dead silence that followed, “I see the point in getting out first.” 

Nobody moved. Mostly because Gladio was caught with his back against the tent's wall and Ignis' back, whom Prompto was, as previously mentioned, sprawled up against, so closely they were essentially breathing each other's breath. 

“Iggy?” Prompto asked, staring straight ahead, as he could no longer ignore the fact that Ignis' arm was wrapped around his waist. “You kinda. Need. To let me go. For that.” 

“...I suppose I do,” Ignis murmured quietly, and Prompto stared, because there was a faint sheen of red spreading across the bridge of his nose. 

The resulting movement was made ten times more awkward than it has any business being, by Noctis' response to the chill coming from the open flap, which was essentially shuffle about towards them, seeking warmth. 

“This is it,” Gladio mused wryly, after they managed to escape the monster under the covers, all three of them standing by the flap and peering at their snoring King. “Lucis' last hope, the Chosen King.” 

“Well,” Ignis sighed and then raised his arms above his head, stretching. “The Archaean came around in the end, so not all is lost.” 

It occurred to Prompto that this was the first time he woke up about the same time as them. Usually, by the time he crawled out of the tent, Ignis was halfway done with breakfast and Gladio was out there running or stretching or doing any other number of highly distracting so-called exercises. He liked to think he was an early riser, and he certainly was, when compared to Noctis, for instance, but Gladio and Ignis always seemed to be up and about well before dawn and ready to face the world, by the time he woke up. It was fascinating to watch them shuffle about, hair still mussed from sleep and not quite awake just yet. 

“Is that a thing we're doing now?” Prompto found himself asking, delayed freak out finally catching up to him, now that he realized nothing in the immediate vicinity was aiming to kill him, and he wasn't so tired he couldn't think straight anymore. “Fighting Gods?” Because no one had said anything about fighting Gods, when he'd signed up for the trip. Then again, pretty much nothing about the trip had gone according to plan so far. “I mean, I'm in, if that's the case. Just. Wanna know where I stand.” 

“Objectively speaking,” Ignis mused as he knelt by the fire pit and slowly coaxed the flames back to life, “I'd reckon that was more a test of strength, than an outright fight. But, yes, I suspect Titan's trial will not be the last time we'll have to prove our worth before the Gods.” 

Prompto blinked and then went to grab the bag of supplies tucked by the entrance of the tent. He remembered spying a few utensils and rations in there, and given the fact Gladio's emergency back up supplies did not come along with Ignis' grill, he figured the firepit was gonna work as more than a source of warm for now. 

“Test of strength is about right,” Gladio groaned as he cracked his back with a long series of worringly loud pops. “For reference? Don't try and block a punch coming from a pissed off God. Shit hurts like hell.” 

“Did you, really?” Ignis asked, frowning at Gladio, before offering Prompto a small, pleased smile when he noticed the bag in his hands. He took it graciously, nodding in approval. “Thank you, Prompto.” 

“I'm the Shield,” Gladio retorted, and then sat down next to Ignis, as they began to take stock of their available supplies and figure out breakfast. “That's kinda what I do.” 

“For real? Holy shit, you're amazing!” Prompto found himself staring at Gladio with unmasked admiration – which Gladio soaked up like a cat soaks up sunlight – but then blinked as Ignis unceremoniously put a packet of bacon and a couple skewers in his hands. “Uh.” 

“Well, you're up early for once,” Ignis said dryly, as he passed along several pots to Gladio, “you might as well help.” 

“He was enjoying the cuddling,” Gladio pointed out, rolling back to his feet and dodging a swipe of Ignis' hand with a small laugh. “So now he's cranky.” He gave Prompto a conspiratorial look. “Coffee should fix it, though.” 

“I'm _right here_ ,” Ignis deadpanned, as Gladio made his way towards a nearby pond to fill the pots. 

The sky was light enough that there were no daemons in sight, and they could see Gladio every step of the way. Prompto fumbled with the bacon and then tried to fold it into each skewer, trying to guess the steps based on the end result Ignis usually delivered, and the tools he'd been provided. Ignis fussed with eggs and cheese, making the best out of his limited utensils, and occasionally reaching out to poke the fire back to life. 

They worked in comfortable silence, keeping an eye of Gladio as he made his way back. Prompto licked his lips nervously as Gladio and Ignis shuffled with a metal grill-like thing and fixed it above the fire. Soon enough, the eggs were cooking, the bacon was toasting and the water-soon-to-be-coffee was boiling. 

“So,” Prompto said, as he folded his legs up against his chest. “About... about knowing where I stand.” He took a deep breath and offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile, despite the buzz of fear rolling in his gut. “I'm... I'm in for that, too.” He shrugged, not quite sure how to elaborate on what that meant, but given the smiles he got for his trouble, he figured they understood. “Like. If you're okay with me not knowing what the hell I'm doing, and all. I'd. I'd like to try, anyway.” He swallowed hard. “If you're still up for it.” 

“If we're still up for it, he says,” Gladio muttered with a snort which melted into a laugh as he put his plate aside and stood up slowly, consciously trying not to loom despite his own frame. Prompto licked his lips again as Gladio approached him, eyes half lidded. “You sure you don't want to think about it a bit more?” 

“You realize that would be a lot more comforting if you weren't looming over him, yes?” Ignis pointed out, though he too was looking at Prompto with a small smile. “It's still true, though, Prompto. It was not an idle offer, we're more than willing to wait while you make up your mind.” 

“Mind's as made up as it's ever gonna be, I think,” Prompto replied, chuckling nervously. “So. Yeah.” 

Prompto barked a surprised laugh when Gladio nodded once and then reached out to pull him up in his arms, kiss a lot less fleeting this time around. Prompto was keenly aware his feet were nowhere near the ground, that Gladio's tongue was in his mouth and that the entire world was tilted off-axis. He didn't care, he clung to the wide shoulders and kissed back, like it was the last thing he'd ever do. 

“You could have finished breakfast first,” Ignis snorted, leaning on his chair and watching the procedures with a raptor-like look to his eyes. 

Prompto laughed, less nervous, more amused, when Gladio shifted three steps and then gently dropped him right on Ignis' lap, his hands resting on the arm rests of the chair, caging Ignis in. 

“Iggy,” he said, eyes dancing, “stop being a dick and kiss him already.” 

“If you want to,” Prompto added, before he could help himself, ducking his head a little. “I mean-” 

Ignis slid a hand along his side, pulling him closer as he kissed away the rest of that sentence. It wasn't the most comfortable set up, if Prompto had to be perfectly honest. The chair was nowhere near strong enough to hold onto all three of them, and so Gladio was left mostly looming over them, his mouth warm along the back of Prompto's neck. But it was warm and hot and he felt like his blood had been replaced with fizzy soda, bubbling in delight all the way inside his viens. 

Then Noctis cleared his throat. 

* * *


	11. the hexatheon's blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group recovers from their misadventure at the Disc, and then gets a rather rude wake up call. Still, their determination steeled, they move onward.

* * *

_xi. the hexatheon's blessing_

* * *

“Noct,” Prompto said softly, “please don't be mad.” 

Noctis spluttered gloriously, face flushing. Despite it all, Gladio coughed to cover up a snort, while Ignis kept his eyes on the ground, suddenly fascinated by the runes carved into the rock. Prompto ignored them, even as he continued to sit between them, looking at his best friend with the world's saddest eyes. 

“I'm not mad!” Noctis snapped, throwing his arms up in defeat. “I mean.” He paused, and then gave Gladio a dirty look. “I was mad at Gladio, 'cause I thought he was pulling some weird shit.” 

“Gee,” Gladio replied dryly, “thanks.” 

“You flirt with anything that moves!” Noctis retorted, glaring. 

“ _Almost_ anything,” Ignis interrupted with a murmur, “he does have something approaching standards.” 

Noctis frowned. 

“And you're okay with that?” He asked, frowning. 

Ignis rolled his eyes. 

“Not that you've ever bothered to ask before,” he said, one eyebrow arched just so, to make Noctis squirm a bit in his seat, “but yes, I am.” 

Noctis flushed. 

“Well, it... wasn't any of my business, and you guys seemed happy enough,” he muttered, casually looking away from Gladio's deadeye stare and Ignis' pointed glare. “So. Yeah.” 

“But _now_ it's your business?” Gladio scoffed, tauntingly, and then yelped when Ignis reached behind Prompto and pinched his arm. With his nails. 

“Prompto's my best friend!” Noctis exclaimed, and then buried his face in his hands, to try and contain some of the heat on it. “I mean.” 

“Aww, Noct!” Prompto raised from his seat and went to wrap the spluttering King into a bear hug. “You're my best friend too! Like in the whole wide world!” 

Gladio shared a look with Ignis, then, and after a moment, shrugged. 

“I'm just saying,” he muttered wryly, “if they start crying, I'm done.” 

Ignis rolled his eyes. 

“Look,” Noctis said, trying to sound regal and failing miserably; partly because he had one arm around Prompto's shoulders, and he couldn't hide the fact he was clinging, and partly because his face was burning and did not seem inclined to stop. “I'm... okay with it, if you're okay with it. I don't. I don't want to have another dumb yelling match about duty and priorities and whatnot.” Prompto blinked. Noctis had not mentioned a yelling match, before, but given the way Gladio's eyes slid sideways and Ignis' lips tightened, there was definitely a story there. “The world went to shit, I'd say we all have the same priorities right now,” he snorted acidly. “So if you're okay, I'm okay,” he repeated, and then stopped. “Okay, so maybe not inside the tent, two feet away from where I'm sleeping. Not okay with that, but. You know. Overall, okay.” He felt himself getting more flustered, the more Gladio smirked at him. Ignis' slowly rising eyebrow was not helping, either. “And just so we're clear and we never ever have to speak of this again, you're _all_ okay with this?” 

“I'm okay with it,” Prompto answered solicitously, and then shrugged when he found all eyes on him. 

“Have I ever done anything I'm not okay with?” Gladio deadpanned, one eyebrow arched tauntingly. 

Ignis pressed his hand against the side of Gladio's face and shoved him a little, rolling his eyes. 

“We're okay, Noct.” 

Noctis nodded, flaring his nostrils slightly as he sighed. 

“Cool,” he said, as he stepped away from Prompto. “I'm gonna back to sleep, it's too damn early for this.” He paused, mid-turn, then gave them a slight glare. “Please don't wake me up again. Not like that. _Please_.” 

He managed a certain amount of wounded dignity, despite the chorus of awkward laughter that echoed as he stomped back into the tent. Prompto stared at his retreating back for a moment, before he looked back at Ignis and Gladio, both studying him with clear interest in their eyes. Prompto flushed, resisting the urge to squirm. 

“So...” 

Gladio licked his teeth, at the same time Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“C'mere, Prom.” 

Prompto went. 

* * *

“So you're actually okay with it,” Noctis said, riding alongside Prompto, several crucial yards ahead of Ignis and Gladio, despite his best intentions to never bring up the subject again, for as long as he lived. “Like, all of it.” 

On the one hand, Prompto appreciated the concern. He really did. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, in ways that were probably not entirely appropriate, even, but it was rare for Noctis to be vocal about his feelings. He tended to act on them, more than talk about them, most of the time. So it was... it was kind of a big deal, that he'd bring it up in the first place. And Prompto knew it and appreciated it, and honestly, he didn't deserve his best friend, because he really was the bestest of friends. 

On the other hand, Prompto was not entirely sure he was up to having this particular conversation with his best friend, because the notion that Noctis would know about... well, stuff – and _stuff_ , in Gladio's own words – was frankly mortifying. He could get himself to talk about it with Ignis and Gladio, sort of, but only because they were the people he wanted to do stuff with. Noctis was just. It was awkward. It was a whole new level of awkward, like one of the bosses in their favorite games, the super hard ones that had three thousand health bars and then switched forms and got new ones, just when you thought you were done with it and then killed you while you were still bragging about it. It was terrible, really. 

“The. Uh. The bits I've gotten so far, yeah,” Prompto muttered, head ducked between his shoulders. “Yeah.” 

Noctis arched an eyebrow curiously. 

“And the bits you haven't?” 

Prompto laughed awkwardly and tried to play off the burning on his face by reaching out and shoving Noctis, not hard enough to throw him off his chocobo, but enough to be felt. 

“Well, I almost got those this morning, I think,” he snorted, “before you decided to wake up early for once in your life.” 

They'd kiss again, and tried to figure out the best way to kiss when it felt there were entirely too many limbs involved, but little more than that. Gladio had given him looks like he'd rather not stop at that, but they couldn't quite ignore the fact their King was just a few feet away and the mood just. Wasn't quite the same as before. But still, kisses. Prompto was decidedly in favor of those. 

Noctis shoved him back, face flaming just as hard. 

“Well, you guys were making a racket!” He snapped, and Prompto felt marginally bad about how much better he felt, to know Noctis was just as mortified as he was. Then Noctis snorted, shaking his head. “That poor chair, man. That chair's _seen_ things.” 

“Noct!” 

Despite the teasing – and it was terrible, unrelenging teasing – Prompto figured Noctis really didn't mind. The thought made him breathless in a weird, conflicted kind of way. He was glad, honestly, because he doubted he could go on and start... start a _relationship_ – Prompto felt that fizzy soda in his veins feeling course through his spine again – if Noct disapproved of it, and he doubted Ignis and Gladio felt any different in that regard. On the other hand, an unrequited crush was an unrequited crush, and he couldn't avoid the faint pang of disappointment, even though it felt stupid. 

“That's it,” Noctis said solemnly, grinning sideways at him, “I'm calling _chair_ protective services on you lot.” 

Prompto stared at him for a moment, before he groaned loudly, letting his head drop forward dramatically. 

“Dude, that was _awful_.” 

* * *

They spent most of the day making their way back to the general vecinity of the Disc, though it was a long way there and there were MT patrols everywhere. They didn't have much of a choice, though. They needed to find the Regalia and, without any promising leads, they figured going back to where they'd left it last would be best. It would be another two days to reach the Disc, at the pace they'd been going, so by late afternoon, Ignis had taken the lead and guided them towards the nearest haven marked in the map. 

It was not, however, empty. 

“Cor,” Noctis called out in greeting, as they found the Marshal sitting by the fire. 

“Good to see you're still alive, Your Highness,” Cor replied, standing up gracefully. “Gladio, Ignis,” he added, nodding, and then let his lips twitch just a sliver into a wry smile. “Prompto.” 

“Hello, Marshal,” Ignis said in a level tone, which nearly drowned out Prompto's timid: “hi, sir.” 

Prompto made himself useful, helping Gladio and Ignis set up camp, as Cor and Noctis talked in low, quiet voices. 

“You've made quite a mess,” Cor pointed out, as they settled in for dinner – sans chairs, because somehow despite having spent all day joking about them, there was something profoundly wrong about bringing them out with Cor there. It wasn't like Cor would know, anyway. “I hope you realize. It'll take us a bit to break through the blockades, though I've got people working into it.” 

“Blame the Archaean,” Noctis snorted, rolling his eyes. “His idea of a chat and mine, not quite the same.” 

Prompto noticed the way Cor's lips twitched, as if he was repressing a snarl. 

“Yes,” he said, expression bland instead, “I would imagine so.” He grew quiet for a moment. “I ran into one of the surviving Kingsglaives, down by the farms near Taelpar. Said he'd seen the Oracle out of Insomnia himself, but that she'd chosen to go on her own, from there.” 

“Was it Nyx?” Prompto asked, perking up slightly. 

That sounded like something Nyx would do. Prompto had fond memories of the older man – and a few not so fond, from the last legs of his training. He regretted the words, however, as he noticed Ignis stiffening at his side, expression pinched. Cor went quiet, eyes fixed on the fire as the mood suddenly took a vicious nosedive into the eerie. 

“Nyx is dead, Prompto,” he said softly, voice carefully devoid of all emotion. “Libertus, the Kingsglaive I met, said he used the ring to wake up the Old Wall.” 

“No one but the King can use the ring,” Gladio said, frowning. 

Cor shrugged, a bitter little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“So it's said, yes,” he replied, still staring at the flames. “But Libertus swears the ring found him worthy. If it's true,” he began, and then stopped, before letting out a sharp snort. “If it's true, he saved countless lives that night. The only reason we managed to get as many people out as we did is because the Wall awoke and held the worst of the daemons at bay.” 

“I'm sorry, Marshal,” Ignis said quietly, one hand reaching out to grab Gladio's. 

Cor shrugged slowly, purposefully. 

“He was a soldier,” he said, “that's what soldiers do, Ignis. We die for our Kings and hope that makes some manner of difference.” 

“It will,” Noctis replied, licking his lips. “It does. His death won't be in vain, Cor. No one's will.” 

Cor gave him a wry smirk. 

“I'll hold you to that, your Majesty.” He put his plate down, sighing. “It's time I go, though. Thanks for the meal, Ignis.” 

“Now?” Noctis exclaimed in surprise, looking up at the stars dotting the night sky. 

“Can't exactly waltz into a blockade in the middle of the day,” Cor pointed out with an arched eyebrow, though privately, all four of them thought that if someone could do that, it'd be Cor. “Told you, we're working on keeping the Nilfs on their toes, your Majesty.” He nodded at them as he stood up gracefully. “Gladio, keep him safe, you hear?” And then tilted his head slightly. “Prompto.” 

Prompto swallowed hard. 

“Wait,” he said, standing up after him, and ignoring the weight of three stares on his back. “Sir.” He bit the inside of his lip and pulled out his phone. “Just, let me...” 

“Prompto,” Cor repeated, a bit warningly, as he watched Prompto fumble with the tiny chocobo charm hanging from his phone. 

“For good luck,” Prompto insisted, once he pried it loose and reached out a hand, offering it to Cor. 

He was suddenly, keenly aware they had an audience, and he wondered, for a moment, if Cor was going to turn him down because of it. There was a moment there, where Cor looked at him like he didn't know what to make of him, so Prompto set his jaw and shook his hand a little. 

“C'mon, sir,” he added, in the best approximation of playful he could force his voice to be, despite the roiling, angry knot eating at his gut. “We all need a little extra luck every now and then, right? I mean, it's got to be good for that, it's kept me alive this long.” 

Cor licked his lips, sighed slowly, gradually allowing his shoulders to loosen just a tad, and then reached out to grab the little stuffed bird. 

“Thank you, Prompto,” Cor said, a corner of his lip twitching. “But don't go dying on me now, kid. I'll kick your ass back to life if you make me feel guilty about it.” 

Prompto laughed hollowly. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, sir.” 

Cor nodded at him, once, then ran his eyes over the silent audience still sitting by the fire. He nodded again, and then stalked off into the night, steps sure and head held high. 

“You really think he'll be alright out there?” Noctis asked, as they watched him disappear and in the distance heard the sound of daemons on the prowl. “I mean, I know it's Cor, but still.” 

“They don't call him the Immortal for nothing,” Gladio mused a little darkly, trying and failing to lift the mood. 

“If anyone can survive out there, it's the Marshal,” Prompto said quietly. “That's like... his entire deal.” 

He turned and found Ignis studying him carefully. He looked like he wanted to ask – Prompto would have asked, but Prompto was aware he was lacking in restraint – but then he sighed, shoulders slumping a fraction, and Prompto knew the subject had been dropped, possibily indefinitely. 

Hopefully. 

Prompto found himself lying between Ignis and Gladio that night, wrapped up in their warmth, but found sleep refused to come, no matter how much he tried. In silence, basking in the sound of three distinct breathing patterns around him, he waited for dawn to come. 

* * *

“I hope we don't have to fight him too,” Prompto said quietly, as they stared at the clouds that spread out across the sky and the angry, bright lightning crashing in the distance. “Because, like, I'm not sure you can actually punch lightning.” 

The storm broke almost as soon as Gentiana vanished – Prompto was carefully sitting on a freak out about that, because she'd been there a moment and then gone the next, just like that – a deafening roar of thunder echoing high above as Duscae became grey all around them, almost instantly. 

Noctis finished writing his message and placed the notebook on the small bag around Umbra's neck. Umbra barked at him, once, and then ran away, as if pulled by an invisible force. 

“Even if we do, we'll figure out a way,” he said, standing up and throwing his shoulders back as he did. He looked suddenly formidable, without his usual slouch. “Cor, Luna... everyone's trying their best, so we ought to, too.” He frowned. “And if that means we've gotta go kick some God in the ass, we'll do it.” 

“Aye, aye,” Gladio said, nodding, though his expression was dead serious. 

“It would be... unacceptable, at this point, to not give it our best,” Ignis added as he carefully rolled up his sleeves. 

Prompto swallowed hard and did his best to stand up tall. 

“Another day, another deity, huh?” He smiled, despite it all, because even then, his first reaction against insurmountable odds was to smile and brace himself to try. “Let's go give them hell, guys.” 

They almost believed it was going to be alright. 

Almost. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The significance of the phone charm is better explained in _[skin tucked in](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12256926)_ , which this chapter probably ruined in the best ways. Whoops.


	12. the trial of ramuh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another bloody stupid trial from an irritating God.

* * *

_xii. the trial of ramuh_

* * *

“Imperials ab–oh fuck it, you know they're there.” 

Prompto smiled wryly as everyone took a moment to laugh at his comment. The entirety of Duscae was swarming with dropships and MTs, all of them zealously trying to find them and ruin their day. They'd lost count by then, of the amount of fights they'd been in. That was bad enough, but then there was the torrential downpour that was threatening to flat out flood the region and the fact none of them had had a decent night's sleep in a week. They were all reconsidering their first impression on Ramuh's trial being nicer than Titan's. Find the runestones and touch them, said Ramuh, while being the most objectively annoying he could possibly be about it, without outright coming out and trying to stop them. 

At least Titan had been nice enough to be upfront about the fact that he wanted to punch them; Ramuh was just being a dick. 

After they dispatched the MTs, Gladio wrapped an arm around Prompto and pressed a kiss to his temple. Prompto blinked up at him, not quite flustered – okay, maybe a little flustered, Noctis was right there, in the corner of Prompto's eye, very carefully studing a nearby bush – so much as confused. 

“It's a terrible thing,” Gladio said, grinning as he let go of him, “how cute you are when you're pissed off.” 

Prompto spluttered and glared a little as he stepped back, but only managed to walk into Ignis, who slid an arm around his shoulder and smirked the tiniest smirk. 

“He means he thinks it's hot when you're mowing down things,” he translated, as Gladio shrugged. The smirk widened a millimeter as Prompto flushed. “I'm inclined to agree.” 

Prompto laughed awkwardly. 

“It's not really...” 

“Frog,” Noctis called out, still very carefully not looking at them. “So maybe stop mooning for a bit?” 

Prompto took a moment to rest his head on Ignis' shoulder before he step up. 

“I'm not the only one who'll be forever happy to never ever see a frog again, right?” He asked despairingly. 

“The ones we found for Professor Yeagre were acceptably cute, were they not?” Ignis teased, considering the literal dozens of pictures Prompto had taken of each of them. 

The Gigantoad landed in the clearing with a loud splash. 

“You were thinking about cooking them,” Gladio deadpanned, as he summoned his sword. 

Ignis shrugged elegantly, daggers at the ready, just as Noctis charged head on for the enemy. 

* * *

“Look, over there,” Gladio said, nodding at the rocky hill that clearly had seen better days, “I bet that's where the lightning struck.” 

They noticed the cave entrance after a moment, once they were closer. Noctis frowned, Prompto shuddered. 

“And we're supposed to go inside?” He asked, clearly not happy about it. When all he got for his troubles were shruggs, he sighed loudly, shoulders slumping. “I guess, here we are – Fociagh Hollow.” 

Noctis started walking forward with a determined – and perhaps a little pissed off – tilt to his back. 

“No telling what waits for us inside,” Ignis pointed out, frowning as he followed him. 

“Stay sharp,” Gladio said loudly, but looked right at Prompto as he said it. 

“Always,” replied Noctis, already venturing deep into the cave. 

“Man, we're drifting into the deep end,” Prompto said, staring at the gaping darkness that stretched before them. 

“I can't quite make out how deep it runs,” Ignis added, one hand trailing along the wall of the cave as they followed the tunnel and its ominous slant downward. 

Then Noctis woke up the bats. 

He dodged out of the way, throwing himself to the ground, while Ignis pressed to the wall, his back bared to them to protect his face. Prompto flailed gracelessly, trying to swat them away, and ended up walking back into Gladio, who simply stood still and allowed them to fly _around_ him, rather than into him. Prompto looked up and found Gladio giving him an arched eyebrow. He flushed and ducked his head, shuffling forward. 

“I've got a bad feeling about this place,” he muttered, rubbing his arms, though his skin was still numb from the cold rain. 

“As if danger lurks in every corner,” Ignis agreed, frowning. 

Prompto made an effort to smile. 

“Avoid all corners,” he said, not quite reaching the right playful tone, but trying nonetheless. “Gotcha.” 

They followed the tunnel in silence for perhaps another half hour, before they reached the tight crack in the wall at the end of it. 

“Should be able to slip through,” Gladio nodded, though he was frowning doubtfully at it. 

Noctis shrugged and nodded anyway. 

“Let's see.” 

They went in order, first Noctis, then Ignis, then Prompto and then Gladio. Gladio grunted as he squirmed to keep up with Prompto. 

“Tight squeeze,” he muttered, having to hold up his breath to get through a few of the smaller gaps. 

Prompto looked up at him with a little grin. 

“Maybe for you,” he teased, sliding through the crack unobstructed, “pretty easy for me, though.” Then he reached a slanted bit that he needed to almost crawl up the wall to get around – Noctis had ducked underneath, and Ignis had somehow shimmied through without a problem. “On secound thought,” Prompto grunted, wincing as the rough rock rubbed against his stomach and his thighs, “maybe not.” 

Prompto looked back, wondering how Gladio was going to get through that, only to see Gladio summon and use one of his spare swords to literally cut off a chunk of rock. 

“What?” He asked, as he pushed through the last bit and found Prompto staring at him. 

“Have I ever told you how _massive_ you are?” Prompto asked, blinking. 

“Massive what?” Gladio retorted, one eyebrow arched. 

Prompto reached out a hand and lightly patted his chest. Lightly, because otherwise he'd linger and they were in the middle of a death trap creepy dungeon on a quest from God, who was an asshole like all other Gods, so maybe not the best time to be distracted. Even if Gladio was always distracting. 

“Just. _Massive_.” 

“Guys?” Noctis called out, voice tentative. “We've got company.” 

Prompto considered making a joke – he made a lot of jokes, when they were in the middle of a stressful, deadly situation – but then he saw the literal horde of imps heading their way and winced. They were fast and vicious and their claws always stung when they got hit by them, which Prompto almost always did, because he needed to get right in the middle of things to nail the little assholes in the head, and he didn't trust himself to do it from range without accidentally shooting someone he shouldn't. 

* * *

Imps, Prompto decided, were the worst. Particularly when they ambushed them while crossing one of those tight cracks in the walls, and they had to backpedal awkwardly to get out and actually fight the damn things. Daemons, really, they were just such assholes. He winced as he patted his arm and found his hand came out bloody. He tested the movement range, though, and found it acceptable enough. It stung, more than hurt, but then that was almost never good enough for Ignis. 

“Look,” he said, hands raised placatingly as Ignis approached him with a potion and a determined look in his eye. “We're running short on those, and we don't know how further down we'll have to go, right? I'm good. Just. Hold it back, until I really need it.” 

“You're bleeding,” Ignis pointed out, frowning. 

“Just a bit,” Prompto shrugged. “But it's not that bad. Doesn't really hurt, either.” 

“You realize that no longer has any meaning, coming from you, right?” Gladio pointed out, arching an eyebrow at him. 

Prompto snorted. 

“I'm good,” he insisted, and gave Ignis a searching look, “c'mon, Iggy, you know I'm right. We need to ration them out until we make it out of here.” 

Ignis pursed his lips in displeasure, dismissing the potion with a sigh. 

“I will be keeping an eye on you, regardless.” 

Prompto saluted, grinning teasingly, and then switched places with Ignis in their little caravan, trailing after Noctis as best he could. 

“You know what I just realized?” Noctis told him, with a little grin barely visible by the light of their lamps. “Specs has you now, to centralize his worrying.” Prompto spluttered. “He's given up on Gladio, because Gladio, and he knows there's a line with me, where I stop listening.” Noctis' grin widened. “But he can worry about you _all_ he wants.” 

Prompto snorted, face flushed a lovely shade of red. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, “it's not like that.” 

Ignis chose precisely that moment to say: 

“Are you slowing down, Prompto?” 

And Noctis laughed, because he was a terrible like that. 

* * *

Prompto reached a hand and grabbed Noctis' shirt, pulling him back. He pressed a hand to his mouth, quieting him down as he pulled back towards the crack they just went through. 

“What's-” 

“Shhh,” Prompto interrupted, giving Gladio a sharp look. “There's something out there,” he said, glaring at the darkness of the tunnel ahead. “What's that sound?” 

They were quiet for a moment, straining themselves to listen. 

“I don't hear anything,” Ignis muttered quietly, just as Prompto shuddered violently at the low, hissing voice, calling for her baby. 

“There's something there,” Prompto whispered, releasing Noctis as he swallowed hard. “So just... be careful, alright? I can hear _her_.” 

Nerves on edge, they shuffled forward, following the trail and trying their best to ignore Prompto flinching at things they couldn't hear, and which he swore were getting closer. 

“Maybe it's the wind,” Gladio offered, even though there was not even a breeze and the air of the tunnels was stagnant and gross. 

Prompto stopped long enough to turn and give him an annoyed look, because he wasn't crazy, dammit, but he never got that far. 

It happened in an instant. 

One moment he was there, about to tell Gladio to stuff it, then a long, scaled body was wrapping up around him, coming from a small hole in the wall, and snatching him clear off his feet. 

“Prompto!” Noctis screamed, though not quite able to osbcure Prompto's shriek of panic – and the grunt of pain as his body was considerably larger than the opening he was literally being punched through. 

He landed on the cold, wet floor, coughing a bit, and looked up at his captor. 

...he wished he hadn't. 

The face was human-like enough, albeit about as big as he was tall, and the hair was dirty and poorly groomed, going from light blue near the face to a sludge-like black at the tips, and knotted up into ropes tied up with trinkets that looked very much like bone, to Prompto's eyes. He tried not to think about what kind of bones they were. But where a neck and body should be, ginormous as they'd have to be to keep the proportions of that face, there was only the long, scaly body of a snake. The scales were dark and grimy, forming a taunting pattern that made Prompto dizzy when he stared at it for too long. 

“My baby,” the monster hissed, wrapping the length of her body in a loose circle around him, and slowly contricting it as she cried. “My baby!” 

Prompto swallowed hard and urged himself to think. He didn't want to end up dying as monster chow. He didn't want to die, period, but if he absolutely had to, he didn't want it to involve snakes in any shape or form. Think, brain, think. 

Then he remembered, monsters hated light. 

He kept himself facing that head and put his arms behind his back, summoning his gun and pulling out all the rounds in it. It was a dumb idea, but it might work, anyway. 

“Is... is it lost?” Prompto asked, as his hands fumbled out of sight, awkwardly messing about his ammo and hoping to god it worked. “Your baby?” 

“Oh, where is he?” The monster crooned, head shaking from side to side, like a creepy puppet show Prompto watched when he was five and determined puppets were not on his list of favorite things. “Where's my baby?” 

“What's his name?” Prompto added, stuffing the dust of the empty shells into a single one, sans bullet. It was either going to work, or his gun was going to explode, he wasn't entirely sure. “Your baby's? Maybe I can help look.” 

“You,” the monster hissed, eyes blazing, “you took him, _devoured_ him. My baby!” 

Prompto held his breath as he managed to slide the overstuffed shell back into the round chamber, his shoulders aching from the effort and his mouth dry with fear. The monster raised up, opening her mouth to bare the needle-like teeth in it and abruptly closed her coils. Prompto barely managed to get his right arm out of the hold, holding onto his gun with white knuckles. 

“You'll _die_ ,” the monster howled, throwing herself at him, jaws first. 

Prompto waited and waited and waited and at the last possible moment pointed the gun right between her eyes and fired. 

The flash of light blinded him, and he had to trust his hands and his ears to scramble away as the monster shrieked in pain and then slithered away with a furious roar. He could hear her, though, down below, wailing. He found himself cowering in a nook of the cave, back pressed comfortingly against the rock, and shuddered as he allowed himself to shake all he hadn't been able to, putting together that stunt. After a few minutes, he found himself able to blink and make out blurry shapes in the background, so hey. At least he hadn't blinded himself with that. 

“Alright,” he whispered to himself, standing up as the shapes became more distinct and he felt he could make his way through the cave more confidently. “Buckle up, Prompto.” 

He could hear them, though. The daemons. Scratching and laughing and bouncing about. He took one good look at his gun, found it not entirely ruined, and decided instead to shift to a different one, for the time being. 

“No big deal,” he insisted, even though it felt like the biggest deal, and the moment he saw one of those damn Mindflayers things in the distance, he found his determination took a swandive. 

He ran. 

* * *

“Prompto!” Gladio yelled from above, as Prompto made his best to avoid getting killed by monsters that turned out to be remarkably resilient against gun fire. “Are you okay?!” 

“No!” Prompto shrieked, barely ducking on time to avoid a Mindflayer's overly enthusiastic hug. “I'm not okay!” He scrambled back to his feet and nearly ran into some Imps. He didn't stop, he just jumped over them, like they were hurdles on a race track. “This place is literally the worst!” He stepped on a Hobgoblin's face to get some leverage and rolled around as he heard the tell tale sound of a Mindflayer's charge ending with it slamming into a rock. “And why did it have to be a snake?” 

He turned around a pillar, trying to find a way up to where Gladio's voice was coming from, and found only another Mindflayer, mid-raise and about to shoot itself at him. He froze, finally cornered with nowhere to go, and closed his eyes as the monster threw itself at him. The hit never came. He opened an eye and found Gladio's back in front of him, his shield having caught the worst of the Mindflayer's attack. The tentacles were going limp, though, mostly because Ignis had ran it through with his lance as he fell. Prompto felt his entire soul tremble a little. 

“Hey,” Gladio said, looking at him over his shoulder, as Ignis elegantly slid off the lance, twirling around it like it was a pole, and wow, Prompto thought, seriously, brain? Right now? “Stay with me, alright?” 

“I'm going to cry,” Prompto deadpaned, swallowing hard. “When we're out of here and no longer dying, _I'm going to cry_ ,” he insisted, rolling back to his feet and summoning his guns to his hands again. “And if you tell me I shouldn't, I'm going to punch you as hard as I can and break my hand on your dumb, perfect face, and then go on crying, probably for a decade.” 

Gladio snorted, shaking his head. 

“Well, then,” he said, arching an eyebrow, “don't just _stand_ there, then.” 

Prompto spluttered eloquently, glared for a few moments, and then turned to look at Ignis, expression harrowed. 

“Iggy?” 

“Yes, Prompto?” Ignis turned his eyes from the streaks of light that Noctis' warping was leaving all around, to study Prompto's shivering, trembling wreck of a self. 

“I'll take that potion now, if you don't mind.” 

* * *

Prompto felt the hair stand on the back of his neck as he stopped suddenly, shuddering violently. 

“She's here,” he whispered, “I know it.” And then, in a louder, angrier voice, he bellowed: “Show yourself already!” 

Gladio slapped a hand over his mouth and pulled him back, glaring. 

“Keep it together!” He snapped, and then yelped when Prompto bit him. 

“Shh,” Noctis admonished, as he glared at the darkness. “Hear that?” 

“My baby!” A low, hissing voice echoed from the depths of the cavern, loud enough they all heard it. 

“See? I told you!” Prompto muttered, letting out a shuddering breath before he set his jaw. “There she is! That's her!” 

His attempt to steel himself for a fight failed miserably when the monster slithered up to them with frightening speed, looming terribly and making the spacious cave suddenly feel claustrophobically small. Prompto backpedaled and hid behind Gladio, clutching at the back of his jacket with a vice grip. 

“Do something, Noct!” He cried out, as the monster swayed before them, her freaky, pale eyes fixed intently on Noctis. 

“Don't ask me,” Noctis retorted, shivering under the weight of her stare, “do it yourself!” 

“My baby,” the creatured hissed, and now that he got a good look at them, Prompto realized her scales shook, as if shivering. It made his stomach twist unpleasantly. “Where's my baby... My baby!” 

“Noct,” Ignis said tersely, mouth barely moving. “Be careful. Nagas are well-known for their magic and their poison.” 

“Where...?” The creature whined, thrashing around them as she twisted her head in a full circle, all the while keeping eye-contact with Noctis. 

“Right,” Noctis said, licking his lips. “We're sorry we can't help,” he said, not quite convincingly, grip white-knuckled around the hilt of his sword. “We don't know where your baby is...” 

“Oh, oh,” the monster crooned, “you can,” she hissed, eyes narrowed, “by becoming _mine._ ” 

“Fuck,” Prompto said, with feeling, and then the battle was on as the Naga melted into shadows and slithered into the ground itself. “Whatever that is? It's disgusting.” 

Gladio gave Prompto's back a slap, mouth twisted into a wry smirk. 

“Stop bitching,” he said, summoning his sword as he licked his lips, “start killing.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Prompto muttered unkindly, but followed him into the fray regardless. 

Ignis' daggers seemed to be doing the most damage, as he managed to weave through the Naga's attacks and peel the scales of her body, so she soon focused her attention on him. Prompto tried his best to shoot where the scales were gone, but she was too fast for him to keep up, particularly when she kept melting into the ground before he could line up a shot properly. 

“Specs!” Noctis cried out, at the same time Gladio's “Iggy!” echoed in the cave. 

Ignis was thrown back by the Naga surging up under his feet, and hissed as he tried to stand up again. The monster loomed above him, and opened her jaws to spew a disgusting looking green miasma all over him. Gladio grabbed Noctis' by the waist, preventing him from warping straight into the mist to grab Ignis. They heard Ignis cough, but when the cloud vanished he was gone. Gladio and Noctis let out screams of rage as they threw themselves at the Naga, but Prompto squinted, seeing a small shadow move where Ignis had last stood. 

“Oh, wow, you must be super pissed about right now,” he muttered, as he saw the small frog barely jump high enough to avoid getting trampled by the Naga's tail. “C'mere, buddy.” The frog was oddly docile as Prompto reached out to scoop it into his hands, and it croaked at him with a decidedly unamused tone. Prompto turned around to tell Gladio and Noctis about it, but found them deep in battle with the monster, clearly gone into their rage. “Well, hold on tight, okay?” Prompto asked, and then dropped the frog, which he was 99% sure was Ignis, into the front of his shirt. 

It was not a particularly pleasant sensation, but the frog sat in place, grabbing to the neckline of his shirt and croaking reproachingly as Prompto dove into the fight as well. 

* * *

“Bring... back... my baby...” 

The moment the Naga fell, face cleaved in half by Gladio's sword, the frog in Prompto's shirt popped out of existence. There was a loud ripping noise as Prompto's shirt tore open as Ignis regained his shape and toppled Prompto to the ground in the process. 

“...well, that was unpleasant,” Ignis muttered, carefully stepping off Prompto's chest, in a tone one would complain about cloudy weather and not magical transformations of the amphibean kind. 

“Iggy!” Gladio exclaimed, immediately sweeping him into his arms. 

Ignis grunted, dignity beyond bruised, but patted the wide back affectionately nonetheless. 

“We thought you were dead!” Noctis exclaimed, claiming his hug the moment Gladio let go of him. 

“Yes, well, I probably would have,” Ignis said wryly, shrugging, “if Prompto hadn't noticed my predicament.” 

Prompto, who was still lying on the ground, shirt ripped open from neck to waistline, and seriously contemplating becoming one with the rocky floor, raised one hand to offer a thumbs up. He made a sound of surprise when Gladio walked over and hauled him up into his arms, before gently putting him back on his feet. Prompto wasn't sure that was a hug or not, but he was left looking at his feet as he awkwardly buttoned up his vest. 

“Hey,” Gladio said, nudging his arm. “No crying til after we're done, right?” 

“All the crying,” Prompto deadpanned at him, even though his lips were twitching into a vague smile. “You don't even know, Big Guy.” 

“I do wonder what she was going on about,” Ignis said, taking the chance to change the topic. 

“Beats me,” Noctis shrugged. 

“Something about her baby?” Gladio offered, scowling. “Can daemons even have babies?” 

“Well,” Prompto said, frowning, “they gotta come from _somewhere_ , right?” 

“Scripture tells us they are the bringers of the Starscourge,” Ignis said, in his best lecturing voice. But then he snorted, before he could really get going, so perhaps his short tenure as a frog had drained him of the will to be didactic. “But scripture also tell us all gods are merciful, benevolent forces who love humanity, and _yet here we are_.” 

Noctis was the first one to laugh, followed by Prompto and Gladio. Ignis smiled long-suffering and pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“Let's go,” Noctis said, shaking his head. “The runestone has to be close by.” 

* * *

Noctis' eyes went a creepy, purplish pink as he activated the runestone, and Prompto winced, bracing for an explosion and another fight, when lightning shot up _from_ the runestone into the sky. 

“This is it,” Noctis said, staring at his hand and the rune burning bright and painless in his palm, “the power of the storm.” 

“Eh,” Prompto said, teasing, even though his hands were still shaking, “I expected more fire and brimstone.” 

Ignis snorted sharply. 

“Some Gods are friendlier than others, I guess,” Gladio retorted, arching an eyebrow as Prompto inched his way to his side, standing as close to him as he could, without actively clinging to him. 

He smiled. 

“But not all of them,” Noctis snorted, shaking his head at their antics, amused despite himself. It was, after all, kind of cute. His smile waned as he remembered his vision. “Poor Luna...” 

“Perhaps,” Ignis said, placing a comforting hand on Noctis' shoulder, “you had better console her in person.” 

Prompto smiled at Noctis, encouraging. 

“Just a boat ride away, right?” 

Gladio let his arm fall around Prompto's shoulders as he smirked at Noctis. 

“Lose that scowl along the way,” he suggested, lips twitching as Noctis' face flushed. 

He smiled, though. 

“Will do.” He shook his head. “C'mon, I can't wait to get out of this place.” 

Prompto shuddered violently. 

“You and me both.” 

* * *

The sky was clear, when they stepped out of the cave, not a single cloud in miles around. Temptation to crash into the nearest haven was strong, but the sun was high in the sky and the promise of a caravan at Wiz's won out in the end. 

Noctis went to lay on the bed as soon as they closed the door behind them, curling up under the covers and giving into exhausted sleep without a care: he was unconscious almost before his head hit the pillow. Gladio sat on the other side of the bed, and smiled at Prompto with amused fondness as he spread his arms. Prompto hesitated a moment before Ignis shoved him forward with a hand square in the middle of his back. He spluttered, but then he was sinking in warmth and Gladio was running his fingers along the nape of his neck, soothing. He trembled as he felt the tears gather in his eyes, revulsion and fear clawing at his throat as the bottled down panic began to leak out of his pores. 

“Here,” Ignis said, coming to sit between them and Noctis, reaching out with his hands to undo Prompto's vest. “Let me have a look at that shirt.” 

Prompto curled up against them, not quite helping Ignis get his vest and the remnants of his shirt off, but also not actively stopping him. He shuddered a dry breath as he ended up pressed against Gladio's chest, skin to skin, and choked back a sob as Gladio shifted him in place, one hand wound into his hair and the other resting along his belly. Ignis moved until Prompto's legs were curled over his own, and pretended very carefully not to notice anything amiss as he set out to stitch his shirt back together. 

“You did good,” Gladio whispered, lips barely moving against his temple. 

Prompto made a wounded noise in the back of his throat and clung as he felt himself come apart at the seams. It wasn't as terrifying as he would have thought, once, not with them so close and so nonchallant about the whole thing. He didn't cry, not quite, even if he'd threatened to, before. He just held onto the warmth and the company and the fact they were _alive_. 

No, he didn't cry, not until he woke up the next morning, trapped in a hopeless tangle of limbs, Ignis' breathing fanning the back of his neck and his own face pressed against the vast expanse of Gladio's chest. 

He cried quietly, tiredly, and wondered what would the new day bring. 

* * *


	13. engaging the empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto deals with Ignis being a dickish tease, Gladio promising things and Noctis wielding the literal power of the Gods. But hey, at least they've got the car back.

* * *

_xiii. engaging the empire_

* * *

Gladio was wrong, Prompto decided, forcing air through his teeth as he tried his honest best to keep himself still. 

Ignis was not a dick. Ignis was an _asshole_. 

Pressed against his back, Gladio's solid frame heaved slowly with each breath he took as he continued to sleep on, oblivious to the torture Ignis was visiting on him. Prompto reconsidered his previous idea that sleeping in a pile of limbs was comfortable and comforting, and stared at Ignis' face with a careful mixture of annoyance, desire and panic. Ignis stared back at him almost blankly, green eyes glinting in a way that betryaed his thoughts. 

“Shhh,” Ignis muttered, as Prompto's breath came out a little sharply, almost like a moan. “You'll wake up Noct.” 

Like the reason Prompto was slowly falling to pieces wasn't Ignis' hand wrapped around his cock, taunting him with the feel of skin against skin. Prompto closed his eyes, leaned back against Gladio, and shuddered. 

Maybe he should have lied, Prompto thought wryly, maybe he should have told them he was a virgin. Maybe then they wouldn't invite him so overtly, teasing and taunting and offering, and he wouldn't be burning so hard, right now, for more. The thought was unkind, and he regretted it almost as it took form. They... cared about him. They _wanted_ him. To lie about anything they asked him would be the cruelest thing he could do. 

Almost as cruel as Ignis' thumb sweeping back and forth over the head of his cock. 

Almost. 

“Ignis,” Prompto hissed at him, almost voiceless, and was drowned by the sound of Noctis shuffling loudly beneath the covers. 

Ignis' hand stilled immediately. Prompto nearly screamed. Then Ignis leaned in and pressed a soft, infuriatingly chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, and left the tent. Prompto laid there, shuddering and trying his best to keep quiet and still. He stared at Noctis – well, the bundle of covers that was supposed to be Noctis – until he rolled again, towards his corner of the tent, and picked up the snoring right where he'd left it off. 

Then Gladio slid a hand around his mouth, leaning his face to speak into his ear. 

“Iggy rail you up again?” He whispered teasingly, as if his other hand sliding down Prompto's side wasn't inevitably going to run into evidence of it. “Want a hand with that?” 

Prompto tilted his head back and went limp in his arms. As every other time – Prompto wanted to be mad at Ignis about putting him in that situation and then leaving him like that, he did, but then he _had_ asked him, every time, and every time Prompto _had_ nodded because the feeling of Ignis' fingers was like nothing he'd ever felt before – Gladio reached down and wrapped a hand around his poor, twitching dick. His hand was nearly big enough to cover it all. Prompto bit on the fingers pressed against his mouth and came after two sharp tugs. He forced himself to follow the movements of Gladio's hand with his eyes as it slid out of his pants. Don't put it in your mouth, Prompto thought a little desperately, don't put it in your mouth. 

Gladio licked his fingers. 

Prompto groaned quietly, because it was so gross, and so, so fucking _hot_. It was unfair. He crawled out of the tent with the echo of Gladio's soft chuckles in his ears. 

“Good morning,” Ignis said, casually poking the fire back to life. 

“You are the worst,” Prompto told him, face flushed with mortification. “I want you to know that.” 

Ignis smirked at him. Slow and subtle and barely there. Prompto's flush returned with a vengeance, as did the tingling, giddy feeling, because Ignis was toying with him, and Gladio had told him that's how you knew Iggy liked you: he made you want to kiss him and strangle him in the same breath. 

“I'm going for a walk,” Prompto said, shaking his head. Which meant finding a nice bush somewhere to take a piss and clean himself up and maybe scream internally for a bit. “Alone! With my thoughts!” 

“Don't wander far,” Ignis replied, calmly standing up and dusting dirt off his pants. “Breakfast will be ready soon.” 

Prompto sighed, nodded, and only after a moment of hesitation, he walked up to Ignis and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“The worst,” he insisted, as Ignis chuckled low in his throat. 

Ignis sunk a hand into his hair and pulled him up to kiss him properly. Prompto took a sharp breath, and then swallowed hard as Ignis pulled back. 

“Good morning,” Ignis repeated, looking smug and insufferable in a way that made Prompto want to kiss him again. 

“I'd say his started pretty nicely,” Gladio said, as he came out of the tent with a smirk. “So did mine, for that matter,” he added, leaning in to kiss Ignis. 

Prompto felt lust and embarrassment bubble awkwardly under his skin, because Gladio had _licked his fingers_ and what if Ignis could taste it and... 

“I thought you were going for a walk,” Ignis told him, amused at the lovely shade of red Prompto's face could turn into, with the proper encouragement. “Perhaps we should _all_ go for a walk.” 

“You are both the worst,” Prompto insisted, “like, wow, look at how _worst_ you are.” 

He choked on a laugh when Gladio wrapped an arm around him and lifted him up to kiss him, like he weighted nothing. He forgot about all his reservations about kissing Gladio – it wouldn't be gross until hours later, when they were fighting something big and mean that wanted them dead, and Prompto took a second to die a little inside because he'd definitely done that – and swung his feet a little, giddy because they didn't touch the ground. 

“I'm going to have so much fun with you,” Gladio told him, voice a low growl that sat pointedly in Prompto's gut. 

“But you'll wait until we're all behind closed doors,” Ignis said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Lest the King has choice words for us.” 

“Right,” Prompto snorted, giving Ignis a dirty look. “ _You_ should be saying that.” 

Ignis shrugged. 

“Someone ought to, yes,” he replied, and then smirked as Gladio finally put Prompto down on his feet again. “Though, as the saying goes, do as I say, _not_ as I do.” 

Any further comment, however, was stalled by the sound of a phone ringing. They heard Noct swear irritably, before the ringing stopped. After a moment, he crawled out of the tent, looking unamused. 

“Don't worry about it,” Noctis muttered, holding the phone with one hand and rubbing at his eyes with the other. “We'll figure it out.” He snorted at whatever he was told, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, thanks for the heads up, anyway. Later.” 

He looked at his friends with a scowl as he lowered the phone. 

“Who was that?” Gladio asked, frowning. 

“Cindy,” Noctis groaned, scratching his hair as he yawned. “Who doesn't know the meaning of calling hours, apparently.” 

“What?” Prompto blurted out, before he could really think about it. “You can't talk to her like that!” 

Noctis gave him a blank look. 

“Yeah, I can,” he said, before rolling his eyes. “I just did.” 

Ignis cleared his throat before Prompto could go on arguing about Cindy. 

“And did she have any choice words for you?” He asked, one eyebrow arched as he let a hand fall on Prompto's shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Noctis sighed. He ruffled his hair a little and then looked up at them seriously, and somehow the air seemed to shift, because the playful mood evaporated instantly. “The Regalia's at an imperial base.” 

“Oh boy...” Prompto snorted. 

Gladio and Ignis shared a pointed look. 

“I guess,” Gladio said, taking his arm off Prompto's back and folding it with the other, across his chest, “that leaves only one question...” 

“When do we retrieve her?” Ignis finished for him, nodding. 

Noctis tilted his chin up. 

“I'd say... _now_.” 

“Did she tell you which base is holding the Regalia?” Ignis asked, frowning. “Or are we to canvas the entirety of Duscae?” 

“Aracheole stronghold,” Noctis replied, “so hey, at least we know where we're going.” 

“That's good, right?” Prompto pipped in, trying to sound a bit more enthusiastic than he felt. 

“Alright,” Gladio sighed, “let's step on it, fellas. We break camp and then set off. If we ride close to the disc, we'll manage to get there before night time.” 

* * *

They made good time, and their chocobos seemed hardly winded from the rushed pace. There were a couple close calls with pack of Voretooths and a herd of Garulas, but they were within sights of the huge structure a few hours before dusk. 

“Holy shit,” Prompto said, staring at the sky as a giant ship glided over their heads, hundreds of feet above. 

“That's huge!” Gladio exclaimed, as their mounts came to a stop. 

“Way bigger than the last one we saw!” Prompto added, swallowing hard, because it was one thing to know they'd need to fight the Empire, head on, and another to be confronted with what exactly that meant. 

“And heading straight for Aracheole stronghold, too,” Ignis mused darkly, eyes narrowed as, in the distance, the ship began landing maneuvers above the base. “This complicates matters.” 

“To be fair, Specs,” Noctis said easily, “matters were pretty dang complicated already.” 

“Indeed,” Ignis replied, lips pursed into an unamused smile. “This is nothing more than conjecture,” he added, ever so slightly hesitant, “but I suspect that ship was due to arrive far earlier. The ferocity of the storm must have slowed it down. And there's a chance they might try to transport the Regalia back to Niflheim.” 

Gladio snorted. 

“We oughta thank the thunder god for buying us some time, then,” he said, smirking wryly. 

“But that time is running out,” Prompto pointed out, licking his lips nervously. 

“Yeah,” Noctis nodded resolutely, “so let's run in and run them off.” 

“A worthwhile goal,” Ignis said, pushing his glasses up his nose, “but only a fool rushes in without a plan. There should be a haven nearby. I suggest we set up camp and device our strategy.” 

They resumed the way with a murmur of agreement, following Ignis' lead. Strategy, as it turned out, was to follow Cor's example and wait until dark to sneak into the base. There was a risk they'd run into daemons, on the way in, but if they were quick about it, they hoped to avoid any fights. Ignis drew them a rough sketch of the fortress, based on old notes he'd once read about the until then abandoned structure, but they had no way of knowing where the Regalia was being kept, exactly. 

It wasn't, in Prompto's humble, borderline-panicked opinion, the most solid strategy in the world, but it was all they had. He kept his thoughts to himself as they ate quietly and shuffled into the tent to sleep. Ignis woke them up just as the sky was starting to go purple, and they took the time to check on their weapons and gear one last time, before they left. 

“Guys?” Prompto said, fingers itching for the familiar, comforting weight of a gun, “I just want you to know, this is probably the craziest thing we've ever done.” 

Gladio and Noctis snorted in unison, giving him fond looks over their shoulders. 

“And yet,” Ignis said dryly, “imagine what we'll be up to, by next week?” 

* * *

It went to shit, eventually. 

Prompto had been dreading it, and he wasn't entirely surprised when it happened, but that didn't mean he had _wanted_ it to. The air was sweet and thick, but no one else seemed to notice, except Prompto. He felt strange inside the base. Restless, like he'd drank too much coffee in the morning, or stolen one of Ignis' cans of ebony. There was a reddish hue to everything, and his skin tingled with anxiety that he couldn't quite place. No one else seemed bothered, though, beyond the obvious fact they were storming an imperial base and quite possibly were all moments from a grizzly death, anyway. 

Then it all went to shit, and Prompto was too busy fighting to really care about anything else. 

MTs scurried about like cockroaches, chirring and beeping and shrieking that horrible, blood-curdling screech of theirs, when they died. They tried their best to keep together, but Prompto broke off from the group to hunt down the snipers, since Noctis was focusing on the large magitek armors and Ignis and Gladio were trying their best not to be swarmed by foot soldiers. It was dark, and there were sirens howling, and every grunt from his friends made Prompto's chest seize up minutely, but he focused on his task. Not dead weight, he thought fiercely, rolling in and out of cover as he stole a rifle from one of the snipers and distracted as many as he could into a duel with him. 

They were almost holding alright, drawing fire away from the Regalia and plowing through the not-so-hapless hordes of MTs like they knew what they were doing. They managed to regroup by the generator, intent on destroying it and putting the base permanently out of commision. 

Then the giant fuck you thing came out of the hangar. 

“Oh fuck,” Prompto whimpered as the magitek armor towered nearly thirty feet above them. 

Noctis swallowed hard, tightened his grip on his sword, and warpstriked it right in the center. That was usually enough to make the smaller versions stumble slightly, but against this particular monstrosity, it did nothing. 

“Okay, new plan,” Noctis said, landing between Prompto and Gladio as he panted harshly. “Hit it with everything we've got.” 

“Thought that _was_ the plan already,” Gladio snorted, but shifted his stance slightly, eyes narrowed. 

“What's that you usually say?” Ignis snapped at him, switching his daggers for a long spear, “less bitching, more killing?” 

Gladio laughed, even as they broke formation, scrambling to avoid incoming fire. Prompto honestly didn't think he could laugh, but he tried, nonetheless, to find a corner where he could stand and aim the crossbow at the sturdy legs. The magitek armor tanked their hits, even the magic Ignis and Noctis threw at it, with terrifying ease. 

“Prompto!” Noctis yelled at him, warping from side to side to avoid the missiles – they were being shot with missiles, that was a thing that was happening now. “Take the generator offline! It might slow this thing down!” 

The generator was smack in the middle of the impromptu areana and there was no real cover to hide behind anywhere near it. Prompto swallowed hard, squared off his shoulders, and ran. 

“On it!” 

He was good with machinery – he'd given serious thought to an engineering career, before deciding on the Crownsguard, and he'd claimed every piece of imperial weaponry they'd recovered so far – but there was no way he was taking the time to turn the generator off properly. Not with a thirty foot tall death machine raining fire on his friends, and his friends doing their honest best to fight back. And there were still waves of MTs flooding into the courtyard, zeroing in on him the moment they realized he was so close to the generator. 

And then there was the fact the closer he got to it, the more the anxiety returned, making it hard to focus on a single thought clearly. Prompto realized he was fighting haphazardly, taking unnecessary risks that he usually avoided by remembering Cor's best deadpanned critiques of his style. He took a selfie with an MT he'd just shot through the head. That's how stupid and irresponsible he was being. That's how he knew he needed to get that generator offline, _now_. 

“Here goes nothing,” he said, swallowing hard and pulling out the circular saw, revving it up. 

He didn't like the saw, as a weapon. It was heavy and unwieldy and required him to get right in the face of whatever he was attacking. He liked to see it more as a tool, instead, something to be used precisely, at the right moment. Prompto yelled a makeshift warcry and wailed all over the control panel of the generator, ignoring the sparks and the heat as the entire structure malfunctioned under the assault. 

“Shit,” he whispered, and then got blown back into giant, metal storage crate, when the generator went up in flames. 

His ears were ringing from the explosion and he was pretty sure he was concussed. But the red blur was gone, and so was the winding, pressing anxiety boiling in his veins. Most of the MTs were not moving, but the giant magitek armor was still going strong. Prompto clenched his teeth and forced himself upright, despite the throbbing in his ribs and the burning on his skin. Irrationally, he realized Ignis was going to yell at him, again. He dismissed the thought and set out to make his way back into the fight proper, not about to slack off when his friends were still in danger. 

“Noct!” Gladio screamed, causing Prompto to look up and see Noctis get flung off the air, mid warp, and he came crashing into the ground. 

They rushed to him, just as he began to sit up. 

“We should retreat,” Ignis hissed, as Gladio and Prompto threw Noctis' arms over their shoulders, helping him back to his feet. “We've destroyed the generator, that should be more than enough to stall them. We'll-” 

“No,” Noctis said, taking his arm off Prompto and wiping blood off his split lip. “We're not retreating.” 

“Noct-” 

The sky darkened. It was night, and Prompto knew how stupid the thought sounded, but _the sky darkened_. Flecks of iridiscent crystal shards began to float around them, as they noticed that Noct's eyes had gone that creepy reddish pink they had had, when receiving the blessing of a God. 

“I'm not the only one who thinks so, either,” he said, tilting his head up. “No going back.” 

Prompto shrieked when the hand picked them up, clutching them like nothing in a fist and then raising them what felt like miles up into the sky. 

“Fucking hell,” Gladio spluttered, as he realized exactly what was happening. 

That was also an adept description of what was happening, Prompto thought, as Ramuh raised his staff and hurled it down into the base. There was a blinding flash of light, and when they could see again, the base... was a scorched husk of its former self. Then Ramuh lowered them back to the ground, admidst the hot-red remnants of their enemies, and disappeared into a glimmering shower of light. 

“This is the might of the Six...” Noctis whispered, as they watched the flames slowly die all around them. 

Prompto stared at him. 

“Dude,” he said, blinking slowly. “That... was... _hardcore!_ ” 

He flung his arms around Noct and only regretted it a second later, when his broken ribs and bruised spine reminded him that, oh, yeah, he'd gotten an explosion to the face less than half an hour ago. Noctis laughed, nonetheless, and that made the pain a little better. Ignis smiled indulgently at them. 

“And it did the trick, as well,” he said, satisfied, “the place is dead.” 

“Yeah, rest in pieces,” Gladio snorted, and then spat on the ground. It sizzled a bit. “C'mon, let's grab the Regalia and split.” 

It sounded like a fantastic idea. It also sounded very easy, what with the literal godly wrath clearing up the place for them. 

It still somehow went to shit. 

Prompto was not expecting it, this time. He felt he should have. He had no real idea what was going on, but he realized things were about to go into deep shit, the moment the weird guy with the white hair took Gladio down with one hit. Gladio _never_ went down. Prompto and Ignis and even Noctis? Sure, they'd all taken rough hits here and there. Prompto himself held the record, even, for how many fights he ended up with his face firmly planted on the ground, despite his best attempts and his friends' insistence he was getting better. But Gladio? Gladio was a mountain. Gladio didn't fall. 

And yet there he was, gasping for breath, holding onto Prompto to keep upright, while Noctis summoned his armiger and prepared to fight. 

“I'd say that's far enough,” Ardyn said, voice loud and commanding, as he walked in – waltzed, more like, swinging with each step, like he was carrying a heavy weight, Prompto noted – smiling at them. “A hand, Highness?” He asked, tilting his chin up as Noctis bared his teeth at him. 

“Not from you,” he hissed, hands clenched tightly into fists, even as Ignis stepped up, trying to stand between him and them. 

“Oh, but I'm here to help,” Ardyn said, voice sickly sweet as he made a sweeping gesture, arms stretched wide. 

“And how is that?” Ignis asked, eyes narrowed to slits. 

“By taking the army away,” he explained, making a dismissive gesture at his companion – Ravus, Prompto thought, his name was Ravus – and causing him to turn his back on them. 

“You expect us to believe that?” Gladio spat, hissing as he stood up, even if Prompto was struggling to carry most of his weight. 

Ardyn chuckled. It made the hair on the back of Prompto's hair stand on end, and he tightened his grip around Gladio's waist, pressing himself flush against him, as if to shield him, rather than hide behind him. 

“When next we meet,” Ardyn said, pacing in place as he looked up at the sky with an amused smile, “it'll be across the seas.” He turned to look at Noctis, as his smile deepened. “Just so happens we have business of our own with the tutelary deity.” His eyes flickered up to Ravus. “Don't we?” He made another careless wave of his hand. “Fare thee well, Your Majesty,” he said, as if savoring a joke, “and safe travels.” 

Ravus turned to leave without another word, not even bothering to look at them. Prompto shuddered when Ardyn's eyes fixed on him, just for a moment, and his expression turned hauntingly entertained, before he turned to follow Ravus. 

“You guys...” Prompto began, suddenly breathless with fear, “know that guy?” 

Ignis looked at Noctis for a moment, as if waiting for him to answer, but Noctis was still glaring at the direction the two had left in, fists tightly clenched at his sides. 

“Ravus Nox Fleuret,” Ignis said, “first son of Tenebrae... and elder brother, to Lady Lunafreya.” 

The look on Noctis face... it said everything that needed to be said, about that. 

* * *


	14. spinning a yarn (ii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get a room, finally.

* * *

_xiv. spinning a yarn (ii)_

* * *

Prompto was glad to have the Regalia back, despite uncomfortable revelations about the Oracle's family. He was also not a fan of dealing with Ignis after he realized the extent of Prompto's injuries; a potion had not been enough, to heal everything, and Ignis seemed bent on making sure Prompto did not forget it. Gladio was no help whatsoever, frowning in disapproval, though at least he said nothing, letting Ignis and Prompto talk it out into another awkward stalemate. Noctis seemed to sense this was not a conversation he should partake in, or perhaps the summoning truly had taken that much out of him. Either way, he'd gone to sleep almost the moment he'd taken a seat in the Regalia, and allowed them a measure of privacy to argue all they wanted. 

They needed to get to Hammerhead, though. They needed to be sure the Regalia was in good condition, that the Empire hadn't done anything to her, while she'd been in their grasp. It'd take a few hunts, to gather enough gil to restock their severely depleted supplies, refill the tank to brim, and maybe book a night or two at a motel or a caravan. 

“I am not naive,” Ignis told Prompto one morning, while he set out to make breakfast and Prompto made himself useful, slowly but surely dicing onions. He arched an eyebrow, when Prompto looked up at him, curiously. “I am not naive,” he repeated, and shrugged pointedly. “I'm well aware we will all sustain our fair share of wounds, in this journey. It is inevitable. We are at war and the Empire wants us dead.” He licked his lips, “I am not... angry at you, for taking risks and doing what you think you must.” 

“That's not what it feels like,” Prompto admitted quietly, squinting at the cutting board, “from where I'm standing. You seemed pretty angry, about the... thing. You know. All of it.” 

“Prompto,” Ignis insisted, frowning. “I have no doubt in my mind that you're a capable fighter,” and Prompto marveled, for a moment, how believable that sounded, in his voice. “I am, however, more than a little concerned, that you still believe yourself to be disposable, and take your risks with that in mind.” Prompto opened his mouth to argue, but there was something... something almost wounded, in the way Ignis was looking at him, so he stopped and reconsidered his retort. “I'd much prefer it if your recklessness were not predicated on a dismissal of my... feelings for you.” 

Prompto bit his lip and let out a breath slowly enough it didn't really sound like a gasp anymore. 

“That's low,” he said, putting down the knife. “That's... wow. That's _low_ , Ignis.” 

“It's still, nonetheless, true,” Ignis replied, refusing to back down. 

Prompto stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out how to reply to that in a way that didn't make him feel like he was an unruly teenager throwing a tantrum. Ignis had that effect on people, and he was merciless about it. 

“'m gonna go see if Gladio wants company on his run,” he said, in the end, and reminded himself that retreating from the conversation until he was calm enough to talk about it was absolutely a valid thing to do, one that Ignis himself had often done when dealing with the topic at hand, in fact. 

Gladio appreciated the company for maybe half a mile, then he sat on a rock to take a breather and stared at him until Prompto laughed a little wetly, rubbing his eyes with his fists. 

“You know how you said, that if Iggy was ever a dick, I should tell you?” Prompto asked, staring at the ground. 

“He does that,” Gladio mused, tugging him into a hug. “He gets better about it, if it's any help. Eventually. You just gotta... draw your line and stick to it.” 

Prompto made a surprised noise when Gladio sat back further, pulling him along until he was sprawled on his lap. Prompto almost made a joke, about how making out was not going to fix anything, even if it felt good, but his heart wasn't on it. He sidestepped around Ignis all day, enough Noctis kept staring at them, as if considering asking, before deciding not to at the last moment. They tracked down a dogtag for Dave and dealt with a herd of Arba from the local tipster, and they felt the day was productive enough to move on and head to a haven by the catoblepas lake. 

They had curry for dinner, though, and Prompto took it for a peace offering. He helped with the washing and then went to bed, arguing with himself for a few minutes before he let himself wrap his arms around Ignis. Ignis stiffened in his hold, and Prompto almost pulled away, before he relaxed again. 

He figured that meant it was all going to be alright, and in the morning, when Ignis teased him again and Gladio buried his laughter into his neck, Prompto was almost sure he believed it. 

* * *

“We should do something together,” Prompto said suddenly, turning to look at Noctis with a little frown. “Like, something fun, just you and me.” 

Noctis snorted and gave him a squinty look. 

“If this is supposed to make me forget the fact I caught you with your hand down Gladio's pants this morning,” he said dryly, “I'm telling you right now it's not gonna work.” Prompto spluttered, face flushed. Noctis gave him a dirty look. “Literally the only thing I asked you not to do, was to do stuff inside the tent. That's _all_ I asked, Prompto.” 

“I mean,” Prompto replied, laughing awkwardly, “the circumstances being what they were...” 

“What circumstances would need you to put your hand down Gladio's pants?” Noctis retorted, incredulous. Then he paused and made a face. “...okay, don't answer that.” 

Prompto laughed, though it was a little off. Noctis being dismissive always stung in the weirdest ways, but he was working on it. He was working on a lot of things, and yeah, some of them absolutely required his hand down Gladio's pants, just for the sake of learning what made him do _what_. Though of course Noctis wouldn't catch Ignis being inappropriate; Ignis teased and started things and then retreated like the great, goddamn asshole he was. 

No, Noct had to catch Gladio and Prompto instead, and worst of it, catch Prompto just after Gladio convinced him he could touch back. And, okay, so maybe he'd gotten a little bit carried away, because Gladio's cock had felt weird in his hand, all thick and heavy and very much not his own. And maybe he should have stopped when Gladio started making sounds he couldn't quite swallow back, obviously. But there were very few things that had ever made Prompto feel like _that_ – never mind he wasn't still sure how to articulate the meaning of _that_ – like watching Gladio fall to itty bitty pieces and know without a shadow of doubt that he was responsible for it. 

It was almost worth the look on Noctis face. 

Almost. 

“I just thought...” Prompto said, biting the inside of his bottom lip, “you know, with everything being... so much _everything_ all the time, we haven't really done anything fun in a while. Like. Just the two of us.” 

Noctis frowned, and then sighed, shoulders slumping a little. He leaned against Prompto's side, shoving his shoulder into his arm, in an overdone show of reluctant affection. Prompto grinned and knew that all was forgiven – not forgottten, no, because Noctis Lucis Caelum would never let such a prime opportunity to snark at people go to waste, no – at least for the time being. 

“What do you have in mind?” He asked, giving Prompto a wary look. 

Prompto snorted. 

“Dude, it's me,” he said, one eyebrow arched, and raised his camera up, like he was about to start an informercial about its many, many virtues. “What do I _always_ have in mind?” 

Noctis snickered, smirking at him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, one eyebrow arched, “but that was before you discovered those two.” He pointed over his shoulder to where Ignis and Gladio were currently deep into a hissing, snarking debate over the legality of certain chess moves. Prompto smiled fondly on reflex, and it made Noctis chukle. “Priorities do change, y'know? With time?” 

Prompto blinked at him. He knew he was meant to get flustered and laugh awkwardly about it. He knew. He threw his arms around Noctis instead, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“Not all of them,” he said, and smiled when Noctis wrapped a reluctant arm around his back. “You're my best friend, Noct. Nothing's ever gonna change that.” 

Noctis made a small noise of agreement, in the back of his throat. 

“Oi, Noct,” Gladio called out, laughter on his voice, “I know you're bitter about this morning, but maybe don't put the moves on my boyfriend like that?” 

Noctis pulled away with a splutter as Prompto choked on a laugh. 

“Gladio!” 

“ _Your_ boyfriend?” Ignis asked, fiddling with a pawn and looking about as dangerous as if it had been a dagger. 

Gladio smirked at him, taunting, and shrugged unrepentantly. 

“Yeah, well!” Noctis snapped back, face flushed slightly but smirk still in place. “Maybe he likes _me_ better!” 

Prompto buried his face into his hands, laughing. 

“Oh yeah?” Gladio demanded, posturing as he stood up. 

“ _Hell_ yeah,” Noctis taunted right back, grinning cheekily as he went to face his Shield. 

Prompto noticed Ignis carefully and methodically rearranging the chessboard to his liking, while Gladio was otherwise occupied. He snorted and walked over to sit on the chair Gladio had vacated. 

“You're the worst,” Prompto told him, leaving Gladio and Noctis to their bickering. 

“So you've said, on more than one occasion, even,” Ignis mused shamelessly. “I'm pleased to notice you didn't fight the title,” he noted, arching an eyebrow slowly as he smiled. 

Prompto shrugged, biting at his lip again. 

“It's true, isn't it?” He swallowed hard, feeling giddy and fond and ridiculous. “I'm... we're...” He waved his hands a little awkwardly. “You know. Us, too.” 

Ignis' smile went lopsided until it turned into a smirk. 

“Indeed,” he said, and slid back his chair two very inviting inches. 

Prompto looked over briefly to where Gladio had Noctis in a headlock, licked his lips and then very consciously moved to accept the invitation. Ignis was a dick and an asshole, but kissing him was still one of Prompto's new favorite things in the world, for all it never went much beyond kissing. Because Ignis. 

“Your feelings are very important to me,” Prompto whispered, lips brushing against Ignis'. 

“...anger and concern often come hand in hand, for me,” Ignis replied, just as quietly, and pressed another, softer kiss to Prompto's lips. “I should not have said that to you.” 

“No, you shouldn't have,” Prompto muttered, frowning a little, before returning the kiss. “But to be fair, I probably shouldn't have blown myself up like that, either.” 

Ignis chuckled wryly, and rewarded Prompto with one of those slow, languid kisses that felt on his mouth about as good as his fingers felt on his cock. 

“Specs!” Noctis called out, when he realized that make outs were going on, “c'mon!” 

“Well,” Ignis said, cool and collected and completely ignoring Prompto's nervous giggling as he buried his face into his shoulder, “you'll notice we're very much _not_ in the tent, Noct.” 

* * *

After the little catoplebas misadventure – Prompto regretted it only because he hadn't known how to read the look on Ignis' face, afterward, even though Noctis laughed it up – they set on their way back to Leide. It took several days and a good number of hunts – seadevils, Prompto decided, were his new least favorite creature in the world – before they finally made their way across the suspiciously abandoned blockades. Dusk caught them in Longwythe, and after a small moment of silence while Ignis did the math in his head, he nodded solemnly at the motel. 

“Soft beds, baby,” Prompto said, palm slapping Noctis' in a high five. 

Dinner was tense in a weird way that Prompto couldn't really put his finger on, until he realized he'd followed Noctis to his room, while Gladio and Ignis had retreated to their own, three doors down the corridor. 

“...what?” He asked, when Noctis paused at the door and stared at him. 

“Nothing, just... I thought I was going to be sleeping alone tonight,” Noctis said, frowning at him. 

“...oh,” Prompto said, face flushing. “I... don't know about that.” 

“You sure?” Noctis insisted, frown deepening. “I mean, I don't mind sharing with you. But. You know, we don't get a chance for separate rooms all that often. I figured you'd want to... take advantage.” 

He wanted to, he realized. After weeks now of stolen little moments, here and there, yeah. He _wanted_ to. He just didn't know if he could or not. Neither Gladio nor Ignis had invited him over, when habit had made him follow Noctis instead of them. And maybe they wanted... to spend time alone, for a change. 

But then, they hadn't said anything, either way, and now Prompto felt dumb about it. 

“Lemme just... ask,” he said, ignoring Noctis' arched eyebrow or the teasing tilt of his lips, as he pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to Gladio. 

The reply took a small eternity to come in. Prompto made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and blocked his phone's screen before Noctis could see it, though, when it arrived. 

“I'll just...” he spluttered, face burning. “Just.” 

“Night, Prom,” Noctis said, reaching one hand to shove him further back before he closed the door. 

Prompto stayed in the corridor for a moment longer, breathing hard as he stared at the numbers on the door with glassy, unfocused eyes. He took a moment to look around, double checking there was no one nearby, and unlocked his phone. The picture was exactly what a split second of awkward panic had led him to believe it was. He groaned, feeling heat slam down into his groin like a swing from Gladio's sword. He shoved the phone into the pockets of his pants and walked – not ran, there were signs about that, after all – to the room where Gladio and Ignis were waiting for him. 

Although waiting was not exactly the right term for it. 

* * *

Prompto was mildly disappointed to find both Gladio and Ignis still mostly dressed, as they waited for him. Then again, he supposed that was better than being embarrassed and too drunk on arousal to be coherent. 

“Suffice it to say,” Ignis said solemnly, sitting on the bed, “that no one will find your body, if Noctis ever sees that picture.” 

Prompto bursted out laughing, nervousness evaporating as Gladio went to sit next to Ignis. 

“Noted,” he said, chuckling. “Still gonna keep it though. Good angle, though the lighting could be better.” 

“Maybe you could take a few,” Gladio replied, smirking easily, “show me how's done.” 

The thought lingered on Prompto for a moment, indecisive, and then shoved itself as heat between his legs so hard his breath caught in his throat. 

“I'd like that,” he said, no longer laughing, “if... if you're cool with it.” 

“Yeah?” Gladio asked, eyes gone dark with interest, “what else would you like?” 

Everything, Prompto didn't say, because that was a little too desperate for his own tastes, but the reasoning behind the question was unmistakable, and the nerves were back again, gnawing at his bones. 

“I'm not... fussy,” he said instead, trying not to fidget, wanting to go sit with them and feeling like he shouldn't, just yet. This was the big moment of truth, after all, the point where they'd... they'd say, it's been fun but maybe we should just be friends... or not. “About s-sex. Like. I'm not... the most experienced or anything, but. You know. Internet is a thing. I don't...” 

“Maybe,” Ignis said, not quite interrupting so much as coming to the rescue, “we should tell you what we want. Then you can make up your mind about it.” He paused significantly. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to, though.” 

Prompto did not say there was nothing they could ask of him, that he wouldn't do, because that was the kind of thing that made Ignis frown and fret and put a stop to everything to talk about boundaries. Prompto didn't want to think about boundaries, at the moment. He nodded, feeling a little guilty and knowing he'd feel worse about it later on, but not really caring at the moment because... because this was it. This was happening. 

“I want your mouth on my cock,” Gladio said, leaning back on the bed just a little. “Been wanting that since Lestallum,” he added, smirking at the tiny, desperate sound that clawed its way out of Prompto's throat. “But I'm not _fussy_.” 

“Yeah,” Prompto said, mouth dry all the way down to his throat, and beyond. “I can do that.” He licked his lips nervously, and turned to meet Ignis' intense stare. “...Iggy?” 

“I'm a man of simple wants,” he said, shrugging, “I just want to fuck you.” He smiled, as Prompto swayed on his feet. “If you're amenable to the idea.” 

“I am,” Prompto replied, a little too quickly, a little too needy, but Ignis' smile made him feel maybe it wasn't too terrible that he was, “very, very amenable. Yeah.” 

For a moment, no one moved. 

“Come here, Prom,” Gladio said, voice soft. 

Prompto went. 

* * *

It wasn't so different from making out. Only they were in bed, and there was no Noctis sleeping two feet away to keep them quiet. There was no furtive little thrill to it, like they were doing something they weren't supposed to – which they were, in a way, and it was funny until Noct glared and then maybe it was a little dickish, instead. Prompto learned Gladio moaned if he scratched his nails along the tattoo on his chest, as if he were petting the eagle, and that Ignis' breath stuttered satisfyingly if you kissed the inside of his wrists. Gladio showed him the exact spot, though he licked, rather than kiss. He half wanted, half expected them to rush into it, after so much build up and teasing, but they took their time and Prompto basked in it, luxuriating in the attention like a starving man presented a feast. He arched his back into Ignis' hands when he moved in to get his clothes, and after the small, panicked moment when Gladio had reached out for the wristband and Prompto had pulled back as if scalded, everything went smoothly. 

Prompto felt something warm and giddy and terrible boiling in his gut, when they didn't ask about it. 

Gladio laid back on the bed, sprawled in such a way as to nearly occupy the entirety of it, and Prompto took a moment just to watch him. His hands itched for his camera, for the ability to capture the moment and slice it precisely the way he wanted to remember it, with all the details he was sure would be lost otherwise, at some point: the pleasant flush to his skin, the lines of the tattoo folding over the clean lines of muscle beneath, the way he parted his thighs just so. Prompto had so many ideas, all of a sudden, for an entire photoshoot with Gladio's erection front and center in every single one. 

“It's a dick, Prompto,” Gladio told him, voice breathy but taunting, “I mean, probably bigger than you're used to,” he added, grinning as Prompto laughed, burying his face into his hands, “but still. A dick.” 

“I get the distinct feeling I'm missing something,” Ignis mused, sitting on the edge of the bed on the other side of Gladio's legs, one eyebrow arched. 

“It's a long story,” Prompto snorted. 

“It's a long dick,” Gladio teased, raising his hips off the bed. 

“ _You're_ a great dick,” Prompto deadpanned, and then gathered enough aplomb to wrap a hand around the base and leaned in to lick the head. 

In the effort of full disclosure, the last time Prompto had done this, he'd been considerably less comfortable and significantly drunker. It had been easier, then, if only because he hadn't been thinking entirely too much and he hadn't exactly cared about anything but the immediate reality of hooking up with some handsome guy that had spent entirely too long grinding up against him in the dance floor. Well, Prompto vaguely remembered thinking he'd been handsome; then again, he'd been drunk at the time and a lot of people looked very handsome, after the third beer. Gladio was definitely handsome, drunk or sober, though. He was also watching him intently, drinking in the sight as if Prompto wrapping his lips around the head of his dick was the single greatest thing he'd ever seen. It made Prompto feel like _that_ , again, that weirdly confident, terrified feeling plopping loudly into his gut, and it made him want to try harder. 

Gladio tasted of sweat and skin, and it wasn't the most delicious thing he'd ever put in his mouth, to be quite honest, but he could deal with it purely because of how it made Gladio react. 

“God, you're hot,” he slurred the words, thighs flexing as he kept his hips down, and Prompto appreciated it, because he was still getting his bearings and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to slide more than half his length down his throat. 

Prompto startled at the sound of a shutter and looked up to find Ignis staring at his phone. 

“Really?” He asked, giggling nervously as he licked his lips, because there was a little vague voice in the back of his head pointing out what a gross mess this was, that was being thoroughly ignored in favor of how fucking hot the whole endeavor was. 

“I'm sure you'd want to commemorate the event,” Ignis murmured, dropping his phone on the bed with a shrug, “were you not otherwise occupied.” 

“Watch it, Iggy,” Prompto snorted, slowly pumping his hand up and down Gladio's length, “I might take that as permission to bring out the camera.” He lost momentum at the last second, nerves derailing the attempt at snark into something entirely too vulnerable for a joke. “Y'know, next time.” 

“Shit, can you?” Gladio asked, voice gone low and rough around the edges, at the same time Ignis reacted by leaning in and kissing Prompto. 

Prompto's fingers went slack for a moment, thoroughly distracted. Ignis caught his lower lip between his teeth, hard enough Prompto felt it, but nowhere near hard enough to hurt. 

“Watch,” he said, pulling back enough to give Prompto enough room to breathe again. 

He held Prompto's eye with his own as he squeezed translucent gel out of a little tube into his fingers. Then he slid ring and middle finger between Gladio's legs and the entirety of Prompto's being trembled when they slid in. Gladio tensed, half sitting up with a yelp of surprise, before he melted back into the mattress with a loud, drawn out groan. 

“Go on,” Ignis told him, tiny smirk twitching at the corner of his lip, smug and pleased with himself at whatever expression was plastered all over Prompto's face. “He won't last long like this... and he's been so very keen on coming down your throat.” 

Prompto's dick, hard and desperate without having even been touched, gave a jolt at the thought. He fell on Gladio again, enthusiasm redoubled, and either because he was now actively trying to fit him into his mouth, or because Ignis kept twisting his wrist, Gladio started rolling his hips, moaning out a litany of incoherent swearing. Prompto made a surprised noise when one of Gladio's hands grabbed an ankle and tugged him back towards him, and he looked up just in time to see Ignis slide into him with a sharp shove of his hips. Ignis ran his hands up along Gladio's thighs, nails first, and held them up at an angle, giving him leverage and space to fuck him leisurely. Prompto stared for a moment, just basking on the sight, and shifted until he was lying alongside Gladio, reaching for his cock with his mouth again. His efforts got sloppier, spit gathering at the corner of his lips, but between the roll of Gladio's hips – either trying to sink further into his mouth or pushed into it by the relentless rhythm of Ignis' cock inside him – and the increasing change of taste against his tongue, all his attention was focused on just trying not to choke. 

Gladio came first, hips thrown back almost accusingly at Ignis and dick twitching in time with his pulse inside Prompto's mouth. He made a mess of Prompto's face and mouth and everything, and Prompto laughed, awkward and nervous as he tried to wipe himself clean with his hands. He groaned when Gladio's hand wrapped around his cock, thumb rubbing at the head. The rough, calloused skin felt deliriously good, and Prompto sat there for a moment, basking in the attention. He moaned low in his throat when Ignis let go of one of Gladio's thighs to tug him back, and kissed him, mess and all, as his hips finally stilled inside Gladio. Prompto came without really thinking about it, stretched awkwardly alongside Gladio, one hand still wrapped around his cock and Ignis' tongue against his cheek. 

“Good?” Gladio asked him, after the world stopped spinning off axis and Prompto remembered how to breathe properly. 

“Yeah,” Prompto said, shivering. “All good.” 

Gladio pulled him down, to kiss him, and Prompto still thought that was so, so gross, considering the mess, but the fact Gladio didn't care just drilled another spike of heat between his legs, despite it all. 

“Wanna keep going?” Gladio asked him, pupils blown wide, Prompto noted, from up close, as he wrapped an arm around him and slid a taunting finger down the curve of his ass. “''cause Iggy's all warmed up to fuck you now.” 

Prompto looked over his shoulder to find Ignis sitting next to Gladio's hips, one arm wrapped around a thigh almost affectionately, given the way his hand kept petting alongthe spot where it melted into Gladio's torso. Ignis smiled lazily at him, clearly not opposed to the idea. 

“What about you?” Prompto asked Gladio, licking his lips and vaguely wondering if he was ever going to get the taste out of his tongue. 

The thought turned him on a lot more than he wanted to admit. 

“Won't say no to your dick adding to Iggy's mess,” Gladio said, smirking like a well-fed cat. His eyes glinted. “If you're up for it.” 

Prompto took a moment to groan at the pun, despite the twitch of interest between his legs. 

“I'm sure you'll rise up to the occasion,” Ignis murmured mock demurely, as Prompto gave up pretenses and buried his face in his hands. 

“That was _awful_.” 

What wasn't awful was them working together to ply him open with their fingers. Prompto thought they took entirely too long just playing with him, but he wasn't exactly complaining. He was hard when they slipped their fingers out, breathing coming out in short, sharp pants. He ended up sitting on one of Ignis' thighs, leaning up against him and basking in the warmth. It was weird and hot and comfortable, and Prompto wanted the feeling to never end. 

“Show him your back,” Ignis said quietly, “you look so lovely spread out like that.” 

Prompto realized, belatedly, that the comment was meant for Gladio, as the larger man shifted to lie on his chest, arms folded beneath his head. Prompto had seen the tattoo more than enough times, by then. Gladio was proud of it and he seemed to have a general aversion to proper shirts. But there was something about him lying there, back bared for him to admire, that twisted like a corkscrew into his groin. Well, that, or the fact Ignis deftly rolled a condom on his dick. 

“You know,” Prompto muttered, breath hitching when Ignis' hand returned to coat him in the gel, and the feeling of coolness through the latex made him groan. “It's really unfair how fucking composed you're all the time.” 

“It's a talent,” Ignis deadpaned, eyebrows arched as he nudged Prompto forward. 

Prompto took another moment to try and get his bearings, but then Gladio shifted on the bed, back arching down so his hips were raised invitingly and there was absolutely no way Prompto wouldn't see the mess Ignis had left behind. The muscles of his back moved with the motion, causing the tattoo to ripple distractingly. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Prompto groaned, dick twitching with anticipation. 

“Yes,” Gladio snorted, looking at him over his shoulder, “that's the idea.” 

Prompto shifted to kneel in place, fumbling awkwardly to try and line himself up. He slid across Gladio's entrance on his first attmept, and then did it again a second time, just to pretend it had been on purpose. Gladio was warm and wet and terrible, when he finally pushed his way in, and Prompto thought he'd never feel anything that good in his life again. 

Then Ignis placed his hands on his hips, leaning in to kiss his shoulder. 

“Hi,” Prompto stuttered, thrusts slowing down even as Gladio moaned in protest. 

“Hello,” Ignis said, amused, and guided Prompto's hips into an angle, so he could feel his cock pressed into the cleft of his ass. “Come here often?” 

Prompto's laugh unraveled into a low groan as Ignis slid home. Even if they'd loosened him up for it, it had still been a while. Prompto felt full and disjointed, panting for breath. Then Ignis pulled back enough to shove back in, and Prompto came tumbling down to Gladio's back. 

“Yeah,” Gladio grunted, eyes half lidded. “He does that.” 

Prompto dug his nails on Gladio's back, panting open-mouthed against his spine, and forgot about everything except the unrelenting, all consuming pace of Ignis' hips slamming into his own, and the way they forced him to grind into Gladio. It didn't last long. It couldn't, not with Ignis mercilessly hammering down on them, trying to smear them into a thin, blissed out paste beneath him, until the lines where one started and the other ended were blurred entirely. Gladio came at some point. Prompto knew because he felt him clench and pulse around him, muscles twitching under his hands. So did he, eventually, left soaking up the warmth and quite possibly drooling a little, on Gladio's back. 

He couldn't quite tell when Ignis' did, only that he must have, at some point, because the next time Prompto had enough brain power to focus on anything other than the sweet, sweet ache eating at his bones, he noticed Ignis tying up his condom and throwing it carelessly into the trashbin in the corner. 

“Let me die,” Prompto muttered, leaning back against Ignis and hissing as he wrapped a hand around his dick and helped him out of Gladio. “Please.” 

“You need a shower,” Ignis told him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his chin as he rolled off the condom and ignored the way Prompto whimpered in the back of his throat. “You'll thank me the morning.” He patted Prompto's belly, twice, and then reached with a hand to press at Gladio's lower back, right at the tips of the tail feathers. “Gladio.” 

“Mmmm,” Gladio muttered, groaning, “in a minute.” 

Somehow, to Prompto's half-fried brain, this felt more intimate than all the messy, hot things they'd just finished doing. Ignis' soft, coaxing voice herding them into the small bathroom and then shuffling into the even smaller shower stall, skin rubbing on skin and hands helping and petting everywhere. Ignis and Gladio kissed slowly under the spray, softly. Then they kissed him like that, and Prompto didn't know what to do, except kiss back, all awkward, eager affection, because he was too tired to remember he wasn't supposed to come across as desperate. They shuffled back into the room, where Iggy tore the coverlet off the bed before letting them fall face first into it. 

Prompto kept bracing for the anxiety and the panic that usually came after sex, to hear that vicious little corner of his brain that hated him and everything he did, but specially anything that left him open and vulnerable in any way. It was as expected at that point, as sunrise in the morning. And yet, as Gladio wrapped his arms around him and curled on his back like an overgrown cat, and Ignis laid next to him, fingers seeking his under the sheets, just to touch, that was all. 

He fell asleep waiting for it, lulled by the echo of breathing in the room and the warm exhaustion in his bones. 

All was well in the world. 

* * *


	15. the balouve mines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto has feelings on top of feelings, but he's not dead weight.

* * *

_xv. the balouve mines_

* * *

Prompto woke up sore and content, and just in time to see Ignis fuck Gladio almost viciously into the mattress. The larger man was lying on his side, facing him, and seemed to, for lack of a better word, be melting into the bed, limbs loose and expression blissed out in a way that drilled itself straight into Prompto's half-hardened cock and made it rise to full attention. Then Gladio noticed he was watching, and he smiled. Prompto's heart skipped a beat, then three, then stopped all together. Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to Gladio's slack-jawed one. 

“Good morning,” Ignis chuckled, but his hair was mussed and there was sweat down his neck and his hips kept pistoning unforgivingly harsh into Gladio's body. 

Prompto cradled Gladio's head against him and gave Ignis the best smile he could muster. 

“Hi,” Prompto said, chuckling wryly. “Really good, huh.” 

Gladio made a sound that was apparently meant to be words, and then buried his face into Prompto's chest. 

“Quite,” Ignis hissed. “Do you want...?” 

Prompto shook his head and rubbed his thighs together. He ran his fingers through Gladio's hair, trying not to catch the snares in it, and smiled. 

“I'm good,” he said, and found he was. 

He _was_. 

He peppered kisses all over Gladio's face, fingers tracing along the lines of the tattoo along his shoulders. And he felt good. He felt nice. Like he'd... like he was allowed to be there, touching and watching. Prompto basked on the feeling almost as much as Gladio seemed to be basking in his and Ignis' touch. Eventually, Ignis collapsed on Gladio's side, groaning low in the back of his throat. Prompto hesitated a moment and then reached out, gently crading Ignis' face in his hand and leaned in to kiss him. And it was nice. It was... it was _right_. 

Prompto cried out as he broke the kiss, because Gladio dropped his head a few crucial inches and caught the tip of his cock in his mouth. Ignis chuckled, dark and low and pleased, and kiss his forehead as Prompto panted open-mouthed against his neck. 

Needless to say, it was a while still, before they finally shuffled out of the room to hunt down breakfast, showered and dressed. 

They still managed to beat Noctis by about an hour and a half. 

* * *

They arrived at Hammerhead sometime before noon. 

They left the car with Cindy and ate Takka's chili con carne for lunch. Afterwards, while the others headed resolutely to the general store, intent on restocking properly, Prompto found himself lurking about the doors of the garage, inside which Cindy was very methodically stripping the Regalia apart. He hadn't meant to go there, but the sight of the car with a literal halo of parts spread out around it had caught his eye. He kept by the door, peering in curiously as Cindy rummaged about and pulled out bits and pieces to examine and then place on the floor, before she leaned in and repeated the process, over and over again. He was content just watching, half because Cindy looked amazing in her element, confident and sure of herself, and half because he was genuinely interested in what the Regalia looked like, under the metaphorical hood. 

At least until he got a kick in the butt from Cid – the old man never made a sound when he walked, and it was really creepy and also very unfair – that sent him sprawling awkwardly inside. Prompto whined – he was _sore_ , and it was distracting in the best worst ways – and then squeaked in surprise when Cindy was suddenly there, peering down at him curiously. 

“Whatcha doing, sweet stuff?” She asked, hands on her hips and grease stains all over her face. 

Prompto flushed, stuttered, bit his tongue and tried, unsuccessfully, to melt into the floor. 

“I... I...” He threw his arms over his head. “I wanted to see you work!” 

Cindy blinked down at him. 

“Really?” She asked, head tilted to the side, “'s pretty boring, I'm just running a thorough check on stuff.” 

Prompto slowly peeked at her between his arms and, realizing she wasn't angry, slowly climbed back onto his feet. 

“I don't think it's boring,” he muttered, looking at the floor. “I mean. I've... seen car engines before, but.” He swallowed hard. “The Regalia is something else, isn't she?” 

Cindy blinked again, and then a smile began to pull at her lips. 

“That she is,” she agreed easily, eyes glinting as she looked over the car with a fond grin. “You won't see another one like her on the road these days, I can promise you that.” She gave Prompto a gauging look. “You into mechanics?” 

“...a bit,” Prompto shrugged, squirming in place. He raised his hands, waving them a little. “I mean, I'm not an expert or anything! Nothing like you! I just. Like to tinker a bit.” 

“Huh,” Cindy said, giving him a once over. 

Prompto flushed. 

“I mean, I didn't want to intrude!” He babbled on, shrinking back. “I was just... I'll go.” 

“Nah,” Cindy replied, and grabbed a nearby toolbox with one hand, which she then shoved into his arms. Prompto nearly fell, it was so heavy. “You can do better than watch, sugar, you can _help_.” 

Which was why, several hours later, Prompto stumbled out of the garage, covered in grease, sore in an entirely different way than when he'd woken up that morning, and with a dazed expression on his face. 

“Well,” Ignis told him, as he walked up to him, “at least you didn't spend the day playing games, like someone else I could name.” 

Prompto paled. 

“I... I didn't... I was...” 

“You,” Ignis went on, one eyebrow arched, “are _filthy_.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, in the general direction of the caravans. “Let's get you cleaned up for dinner, shall we?” 

Prompto ducked his head. 

“You're not mad?” 

Ignis' expression lost the amused edge, softening considerably. 

“Have you done something I should be mad about?” Ignis asked patiently. 

Prompto grabbed his left elbow and didn't quite meet his eyes. 

“I don't... know...” he muttered, suddenly feeling a ball of spikes settle uncomfortably in his gut. “I just...” He swallowed hard. “I have a crush on Cindy.” 

Ignis snorted unkindly. 

“I'm aware,” he said, and then seemed to regret the edge of his tone, when it made Prompto flinch as if struck. “Prompto... I'm not upset. I doubt Gladio is, either. Though he might complain about it purely for the sake of being bratty about this.” 

“But-” 

“You need a shower,” Ignis said, reaching a hand and grabbing one of the only bits of Prompto's arm that wasn't covered in grease. “Then we can talk about it.” 

Prompto swallowed hard and blinked away the sting of tears. 

“Okay.” 

* * *

He hadn't expected Ignis to walk into the shower with him; caravan showers were small and cramped and not very comfortable most of the time. He'd asked him, if he could, and Prompto had said yes because he wasn't sure how to say no. But even then, he also hadn't expected Ignis to walk into the shower with him to help him clean up. Prompto found himself relaxing, between the hot water and Ignis deft, clever fingers thoroughly helping him scrub off the grease off his skin. 

“I'm not mad,” Ignis insisted, arms wrapped around Prompto as he draped himself on his back, words whispered into his ear. 

Ignis wasn't hard, and Prompto didn't know what that meant, the strange intimacy without the edge of sex to it. It felt wonderful, but it was a different kind of wonderful than Ignis had made him feel before. Prompto swayed on his feet and leaned back on him, to keep himself upright. 

“Thank you,” Prompto said, basking in the feeling, and found himself unable to articulate what exactly he was thanking Ignis for. 

“Come now,” Ignis said, pressing a small kiss to Prompto's shoulder. “If we finish up the hot water, there will be no end to the whining tonight.” 

They dried themselves, and each other, and Ignis kept touching but not like _that_ , and Prompto was a little scared of how much he liked it. 

“Prompto,” Ignis began, as they both sat at the small table tucked in the caravan's side. 

“I didn't do anything,” Prompto blurted out, “we were just working on the car! I wanted to see and she invited me and I'm so _sorry_.” 

Ignis blinked as, across the table, Prompto folded his arms and buried his face into them, looking miserable. He chuckled wryly and reached a hand to pet Prompto's still damp hair. 

“I'm not mad,” he insisted, yet again, as if he kept saying it, Prompto would eventually believe him. “Prompto, you know Gladio is literally fucking his way through the entirety of the Hunter population in Lucis,” he said, tone dry, and smirked when Prompto squeaked a snort. “Are you mad about that?” 

“No!” Prompto cried out, sitting up to stare at Ignis with wide eyes. “No. I. I get it. He's... it's okay. He uses condoms and tells them it's just for fun. He... likes sex like that.” 

They had used condoms with him, the night before and that morning, too. But it was... it was different. He'd asked for them. He was squeamish about the mess and Gladio had laughed about it and Ignis had smiled, and it was _different_. 

It was different. 

“He's also a vain peacock who enjoys the attention, but I'm not mad about that either,” Ignis said, and then reached out to hold Prompto's hands in his. “When we started this, we did it with the understanding that monogamy was not going to be a component of this relationship.” 

“I know,” Prompto whispered, looking at their hands, because he did know. 

They'd talked about it. They'd made an emphasis on that, that of all the things that were on the table, exclusivity and monogamy were not. They'd told him he didn't have to sleep outside their triad if he didn't want to, but that he couldn't expect them not to. And he didn't. He didn't. There was something special in watching Gladio wooing strangers, and a little sense of normalcy at the thought that they too were looking and thinking and wanting. It made him feel better, in theory. 

But he was still reeling, feeling weird and panicky, even if he knew rationally he really hadn't done anything wrong. 

He couldn't have, really. He wasn't Gladio. People did not literally walk into walls and poles and stuff, when he passed by. He wasn't Ignis, either, all perfect and polished and almost otherworldly as he glided about doing his business. He was just... himself. Ordinary. No one took a second look. No one wanted him... except them. 

“...I'm being stupid,” Prompto sighed, head dropping forward. “Sorry.” 

“...a little bit,” Ignis agreed, and then smiled when Prompto snorted. He squeezed his fingers reassuringly. “If it makes you feel any better, Gladio was significantly worse at it, when we began.” 

“No, he wasn't,” Prompto said, giving Ignis an incredulous look. 

“He most certainly was,” Ignis insisted, nodding. “But we figured it out, in the end.” He paused, then smiled. “You should talk with him about it.” 

“You think so?” Prompto didn't look convinced, but there was a hopeful edge to his voice. 

“Absolutely,” Ignis said, and finally let go of his hands so he could push up his glasses. “He might even have a tip or two, on how to go about wooing Miss Aurum. I certainly won't be any help in that regard.” 

Prompto spluttered a laugh, at that, but he felt better. It was going to be alright. 

* * *

The next morning, they set out to explore the mines once more. 

They were certainly capable of handling imps, after everything they'd gone through by then, and Takka insisted the creatures kept pouring out of the tunnels and wrecking havoc. 

“I hate caves,” Prompto muttered sullenly, “so, so much.” 

Gladio threw an arm around his shoulders, smiling easily. 

“On the bright side,” he said, smirking when Prompto squinted suspiciously at him, “at least it's only imps. No snakes in sight. That's good, right?” 

“That thing you're doing, Gladio?” Prompto said, squinting at him, “that's the opposite of helping.” 

Gladio laughed, and Prompto huffed in the back of his throat. He stuck out his tongue and ducked from under Gladio's arm. 

“I'm gonna hang out with Noct,” he said, sniffig mock-disdainfully, “who understands me and doesn't make everything worse.” 

“Ow,” Gladio replied, but he was grinning. 

Noctis chose precisely that moment to trip on a half exposed railtrack and fell onto the side of a cart. The cart woobled under his weight and then began moving, slowly at first, but quickly gaining momentum down the slope. Noctis ended up sprawled on the ground and a few moments later, they heard the cart come to a crashing stop further down the mine. There was a moment of profound silence, before a chorus of cackling imps came flooding out the tunnel, like rats. 

“Oh, definitely see what you mean,” Gladio deadpanned, pulling out his sword. 

“Shut up, Gladio!” Prompto and Noctis chorused at him, as they prepared to battle the incoming horde. 

Ignis snorted at the look on Gladio's face, but mercifully said nothing. 

* * *

Imps were objectively the worst kind of daemon in the world and Prompto would be extremely happy if he never had to fight another of them ever again. 

First they'd closed the doors and forced them to take the long way around, through creepy, tiny corridors that felt like they were going to cave in on them at any moment. Then they started throwing carts at them. Prompto avoided them, but Gladio got hit by one and was out for the count for the crucial seconds it took Prompto to stop panicking and he smashed a potion on his chest. 

It was wet and dank and cold and Prompto wanted nothing more than to _leave_. 

He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, though. Not. Dead. Weight. And promised himself to bury himself beneath Gladio's bulk that night, and not feel guilty about until at least next week. Noctis looked like he wasn't having the best of times, either, since he'd nearly lost an eye when he'd gotten ambushed by what had felt like twenty imps at once. Prompto kept close by, offering a wry smirk here and there, as they continued down the maze of tunnels that truly felt unending. 

Prompto felt that the fact they didn't have a clear objective was making it all the worse. At least in Ravatogh or Greyshire or Fociagh, it had been awful, but they knew exactly what they needed to do. There were daemons and monsters and it sucked, but once they found the tombs, that was it. That was it. By contrast, clearing out the caverns didn't have a clear stopping point. Prompto supposed that when they stopped finding imps, they would be able to call it quits, but who knew if there were more hidden in the depths of the mines? So of course they had to map out every nook and cranny, no matter how claustrophobic or dark. 

He just wished there was some kind of... sign, that they were done. 

He wished and wished, and then he regretted it when the Aramusha cornered them in the lowest floor of the mine. 

They had fought Ronin before, of course. They thought that's what it was, for a bit. But then Gladio used that sweeping upward swing that Ronin never did dodge properly and usually sent them sprawling back and left them vulnerable... and the Aramusha blocked it. Worse, it _countered_ it. That was the precise moment they realized they were fighting something far more dangerous than they had ever faced before. It parried Noctis' best attacks and brushed Ignis off with just a flick of his hand. 

“Fall back!” Prompto yelled, pulling the crossbow out and barely giving them enough time to get out of the way before he pulled the trigger. 

The Aramusha didn't budge, blocking each projectile with its sword, staring down at Prompto with frighteningly intelligent eyes. It leaped at him the moment the crossbow overheated, aiming for a clean swing for his head, and Prompto only survived it because Noctis slammed into him and warped them across the room. 

“Alright,” Noctis said, swallowing hard, “alright. Let's try this!” 

His summoned the armiger, then, translucent weapons swirling all around him and threw himself at the Aramusha with frantic strikes. Gladio and Ignis moved in to shadow his movements, when they realized that the bite of the Royal arms was actually making a dent on it. Prompto hung back, frustrated at his inability to score a proper shot with them moving at once, and instead preparing a flare charge. He'd refined it, since his awkward attempts against the Naga. He would have one shot, but maybe with all the damage the others were doing, one shot would be enough to buy them enough time to finish up the damn thing. 

Noctis ran out of steam just as Prompto slid the bloated cartridge into the modified gun. Once the Royal arms vanished, the Aramusha kicked Noctis right in the face, sending him tumbling straight into Prompto and causing him to drop the gun. Ignis and Gladio tried to intervene and got thrown back into a wall each, for their efforts. 

Prompto saw the sword coming and didn't think, didn't feel, he just _moved_. 

Noctis groaned as his head bounced against the floor, and the Aramusha didn't seem all too concerned when he raised his sword and it was a different body skewered cleanly through. 

Prompto looked down at his gut, where the sword disappeared as if by magic and had a moment of clarity as he wondered absently why it didn't hurt. The daemon raised him up some more, at an angle, and raised a clawed hand, preparing to finish him off. Prompto stared as he slid an inch down the length of the blade, blood gushing down his belly and his back, dripping into his pants and into the floor, and thought: No. 

“No,” he snarled, choking on blood, and forcefully summoned the gun to his hands again. “ _No!_ ” 

He shot the Aramusha point blank in the face. The monster swung his sword wildly as he flailed back, with enough force to dislodge Prompto's body off it and send him flying into a wall. Prompto hit his head against it and collapsed into a puddle of his own blood, screams echoing between his ears as the world faded from his awareness. 

Not. Dead. Weight. 

Then Prompto knew no more. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see if I still remember how this whole chaptered fic thing works. Comments and concrit are, as always, very much appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> [Come hang out in tumblr, if you want.](http://notavodkashot.tumblr.com)


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